Dear ghost,
I want to wither in a most beautifully erratic way.
Not in a way, I would be grudgingly ashamed of, yet still shrouded by pride. I believe I was too wantonly hasty to judge that I did not see the sun-kissed face of yours. You deem me all that is preciously good but I had brushed you off. You probably do not suspect me so. You probably believe me. Maybe I am naive to believe so.
But for now, in this moment that you trust me. I shall trust you too. I shall tell you how I wronged you when we venture. I shall dry the well of my ego. Let it just be me. For now, Burn the prideful remarks of my past and plant the trust in these ashes.
Yours even as I fear to be