Short Stories

Ghosts

I have trouble with faces
I can recognize my family well enough
But sometimes,
I see them where I shouldn't
I see them in my professors
In strangers on the street
I see them everywhere
Even when I know they aren't there

I can also see ghosts
Not those who are dead, per say
But rather, former versions of them
I see their caterpillar selves
When I know they've flown away
I see them everywhere
Even though I haven't really
I see echoes of them
How they were all those years ago
I connect the red string on my board
And tie strangers to these ghosts

I see ghosts
Or rather, ghost
Only one
I see you in my family
In the faces of strangers and friends
I see you everywhere
Even when there's no faces to distort
I see you in the shadows
In the trees
In reflections

I see you but I know it isn't you
And yet, I find my heart
Aching each and every time
My palms sting from
The surge of adrenaline
It hurts

Sometimes
I wish I really could see ghosts
Because then maybe
Just maybe
I could finally talk to you again