White as a ghost I am.
And as invisible as one I feel.
You look right through me as if you can’t even see me.
You forget about me as if I died long ago. I’m still here. Same place I’ve always been.
Like a ghost, nothing’s changed for me. Nothing new has happened to me.
I’m still alone.
Still single. Still childless. Still unimportant. Still not normal. Ghosts aren’t normal. They’re ghosts. They used to be someone but now they’re not. They’re not anyone. They wander. They haunt, for fun or out of boredom. Nothing affects them. They can’t get hurt anymore. They’ve gotten past all that. Now they just exist...and don’t exist. They are an oxymoron.
Ghosts have accepted their fate. They have accepted who they are and don’t try to change that.
But ghosts can’t feel the warm sun on their bodies, like I can feel right now.
They can’t taste the sweet creamy taste of strawberry ice cream.
They can’t feel the impact of a child as they run at you and slam into your body for a bear hug.
I don’t want to be a ghost anymore. Ghosts are dead and
I am alive.
