[15/2/00(?)]
I am a ghost.
I figured it out Thursday afternoon at work. What's going on. I mean, I'm not real, I'm a ghost. At least to you.
Why? I don't know. I'm not real, solid, dependable, physical. There's so much I need to know that I'm afraid to ask. I wonder if you still look at those photos. I wonder if you still look at the old ones at all anymore.
Ever since we walked away from eachother that day at the train station I stopped being real to you. I surprised you by being physically real. I am pretty sure it was a surprise for you - it was a surprise to see you walking off the train. But now you can't see me as not real anymore, and I'm no longer real to you in the physical sense. So what am I? A ghost.
I feel like it too. I fly into your life and you barely acknowledge
I'm there. Rather, I'm there and you don't know it, but you feel
it, and it's a chilled, spine-tingling feeling. You are scared.
I'm a ghost who haunts you.