There it goes again, the never ending cycle of him calling you up—drunk—begging to stay the night in which you'd always abide in.

It was a eventful night exchanged in between of you. Ending into some type of cuddle before you wake up all alone.

Maybe it was his name, Ghost why he's haunting you like this. Plaguing you into this lingering question,

"Are we really friends?" You mutter, the empty space on the bed still warm, missing it's occupant.