The Ghost

wpid-20150731_153858.jpgShe didn’t sit in the dark corner of the room; she sat right in the middle, and a few, sensitive souls, acknowledged her existence.  Some of those less sensitive were aware of something there, but her presence only made them feel uncomfortable, while others ignored her entirely.  She haunted the room, alone and out of place. The one that has no place to belong to.  Neither here, nor there.  She spoke if spoken to, aware of her own out-of-placeness. But, where do you go when you don’t fit anywhere and, yet, aren’t allowed to leave and go to nowhere?

It’s true, she chose to haunt this place on this night.  It’s where the music was. And, she sang and played with the living, because the dream can’t rest any more than she can.  And, yet, the dream is as much a ghost as she is. And again, some listened, some heard and shied away, others laughed, and others ignored.

At times, she pretended she was happy, and that the space around her wasn’t empty.  She had finished with skulking in the corners, choosing instead to fill the centre of the room.  Let the living cling to the corners for a change.

She is me.

I don’t live. And, I’m not dead. I just exist. A lonely ghost. Out of the corners and poltergeisting the middle of the room.

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