Dear ghost,
Remind me of the kind of person I was when I walked through that wooden door with white marble floor. Of the kind of person I used to be before I sat on that polished chair and crossed my legs. Before I smiled so sweetly even as I was famished inside. As my chin morbidly rested infornt of a laptop with broken corner on the screen. Infornt of people that knew me not.
I hope you walked in the room too, reluctantly, but with cheerful anxiety. You saw me there on the chair with my head on the table and wonder what kind of person I was. My drowsy brown eyes would barely offer the hint of what I am.
I was never a who. I am a what. What am I?
Yours truly