A Ghost Story

Chase Court lost John in May, Yousef left Boulder in June, and Eric drove away a late evening in July. A few weeks later, Zack, Aj, and I walked around an empty house, slowly tracing the two-year-history we all created. The three of us understanding only minutes held our lives together. That soon, the collage of images flooding our brains, tears painted by four years of friendship, would too become just a memory.

Now, a year later, Zack has also left Colorado, and for the first time, Chase Court is entirely separated. I can feel the same oppressive loneliness slithering through my body again, tapping against my skull and reminding me its home is deep inside my mind. Its whispers carving out the positivity in my heart I've spent a year gathering. Shouting that I'm so much less without them.

I've driven past our old house a few times, wondering if its new guests can feel our memories stuck in the cracks. Can they imagine how Chase Court evolved beyond a decaying home rented out by a leech of a landlord? Are they adding love to its foundation, or will their separation be a blessing?

The history of that shitty house is undoubtedly a fusion of agony and celebration. And even after that nest of wolf spiders and wasps is just a stain on the land, the collective memory of everything that has ever been felt, the feelings shared across decades, the diverging paths followed by everyone who leaves, all eternally part of the universe's fabric, it will still all mean something.

That's what this film is. A blanket stitched by grief and melancholy and threaded by warm silken memory. Sure, pain warps time, but love exists beyond its confines. I really needed this movie.

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