It hurts to hear those words.

It was much easier,

sometimes to just forget about the weak connection,

that I made,

up in my head.

So he is untouched.

Doesn't matter anymore.

All I had with him was untouched.

But being me,

I couldn't touch.

I wanted to believe the ghost.

I wanted that ghost on my shoulder to touch by looking me in the face.

I wanted the ghost to sit from afar and admire.

And I wanted to say that the ghost was mine.

That would be gorgeous.

And I wanted to feel talented and pretty and strong.

I latched to that ghost on my shoulder.

And opened my eyes for a second.

And I saw him watching me.

I somehow blended the ghost's likeness with his.


The ghost doesn't fit his face, even though I called his name when it appeared.

The ghost is not there now.

It's just a bright hot morning with the sound of people getting on with their day.

The ghost is not mine.

He is not the ghost.

Mistaken again.

what's it to you?
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