Dear ghost,
What if I whispered to you that I use to draw so often? What if I showed you all those poems I have written? What if I told you that I use to be really really really strong and vibrant? That it was on that year, when the glass quickly shattered and I have been trying to mend it since. It was on that year, I recognized my monotonous tone. I rarely write poems. I have forgotten how to draw. I am so shamefully weak. Since then, life has been like a movie, I am not in control and I do not like it. But I still sing and hum to songs and therefore, I wait.
Yours even as I fear to be.