SleepyOwlWrites
I am but a mere ghost, occasionally more present but altogether elusive, here one moment and gone for a season. I do not linger, I do not mingle, and I only touch upon the action of conversation. Persistence is charming for a second, but a barrier in the end. There have been centuries between a past self that passed through, but now, this spectre is all that remains of what once was. I am, inevitably, older, sometimes wiser, sometimes just a dream.