Holy ghost

She's really there when I wake up, Stephanie, a Christmas miracle in Dolce&Gabbana. She knocked on my door early Wednesday morning, I've asked her a million questions but not why she came or what she left behind. It doesn't matter and the smell of her hair makes me wish we were immortal.

We first met ten years ago in La La Land. Our mothers pretend to like each other but hers is a worse actress than mine (I overheard them talking on the phone once, she called me Antichrist). "Don't give me away" she moans plaintively, striking a pose as if nailed to the cross, and I won't. Not as long as she promises to stay.