Dear ghost,
Modesty, the soft and quiet whimper of dexterity. The one that lift you even as you caress the ground. Humility is one that I must gently beckon but first let me see this world that stretches beyond me.
Though I may stutter, believe me I am brave. Enough to quake you or maybe, deter you. Perhaps and most probably not influence you at all because for now, I am young. It's the prime of my summer. Neither am I too naively impulsive nor am I too stubbornly rigid.
I want to flow as the river that ever bends to every terrain and relief. Only in hope that one day, I might meet the ocean that reflects the beloved sky.
Yours