What do you do when the ghost you are mourning is still breathing? It’s not the grief of a clean death, a body in a casket, a headstone you can visit. That has its own brutal, searing pain. No, this is a ghost story where the ghost is still breathing. You are mourning a living person. Someone who walks the same earth, breathes the same air, and yet is as lost to you as if they had been swept away by a storm. There’s a particular madness to it, isn’t there? The phone in your hand, heavy with the weight of unsent texts. The compulsive scroll through their social media, a digital form of self-harm, each happy photo a fresh twist of the knife. I've sat with so many people who are wrestling with this very particular kind of ghost. You see a stranger who looks like them from behind and your heart leaps into your throat, a jolt of electricity through your nervous system, before the crushing wave of remembrance. They are not here. They are gone, but they are not gone. And you are left holding the phantom limb of a relationship, the ache of an amputation with