GHOSTS

I think it's time I wrote about the ghosts.

They're not so complicated when you're used to them. Like footsteps you hear for once because you're actually listening for them. Eyes that peer out from behind your legs. The emotion that rises when you're staring at empty space. A feeling that you're never alone.

They're the knowledge that we're so much more than flesh and bone.

They are the ache of knowing what these bodily envelopes contain. Letters of love. Forests of pain. Joy and power all folded, crisp and neat like parchment we forgot how to read.

Moonbeams.

You'll find them at the intersections - Fourth and Main. You'll feel them in the seat beside you. Beautiful complexities. Like you and me. They're energy. Memory.

And they're okay.

And I think you know they're there. We've a thousand religions to give them names. We've a lifetime of memories and yet, within us, there is more that we cannot explain. We've a scientific dream that, someday, we might finally reason the refrain.

We'll do anything but unfold the structures that make us plain.

But the ghosts don't belong in this place. They are beyond the reach of the brain.

I think you know. I think you know the feeling of lying awake. Of knowing you're more than what your little life will ever convey. That maybe, just maybe, you might be able to express the full meaning of your personality. The one that makes you. The one that filled your parents with wonder as it rose from the nothingness and into the day.

The part of you that will never drift away.

The you that bears a different shape.

And if open up these stiff edges of you... I think you'll see them too. The ghosts.