I’m fascinated by a ghost.
Real as real can be. Even so, sometimes I catch myself wondering if he exists. Poetic musings and untimely vanishings, ethereal like the place he once dwelt.
Why do I think of him, despite unreliable appearances?
Perhaps it’s the utterance of I love you on the first meet, when we were hardly acquainted. Even he found himself taken aback, as though it was something strange and uncalled for. In the context of a card game, a deck shifted over and yours truly took the leave for the night.
Remember even more the impromptu lunch together, when I ran up to him to say hey. Mildly shy, with a smile almost and not quite, partake a meal together we did. The crumbs of a cake that fell.
While our intentions to meet again never materialised, I know the best gift bestowed. My ghost, he writes a birthday wish detailed and sweet. As one who became synonymous to air, his hand reaching out through this digital space is nothing to dismiss.
Ghostly friend of mine. Where you go, be the thoughtful being you are.