Spooky

     At the root of every ghost, a yearning. A tug, in which a living person reaches so fervently toward something absent, that the absence becomes bodied.

    As anyone who has know loss understands full well, lack is not in fact, an absence at all. It is a presence. A person we loves dies, or leaves, or changes, and a gap forms. It takes on their shape. Mimics their movement. Echoes their voice like a mockingbird. We feel the gap take up space, filling every place our lost one once was, and now isn't. It reflects in mirrors. Flickers in candle flames. A phantom.

Do you believe in ghosts?

Of course. i have seen longing grow legs and follow me.