Dear ghost,
What field are you running on as you feel the grains? What beach are you walking on as you feel the cold water? What universe are you hiding in your mind? It's yours and my hidden vices that deprive me in every twilight. I fear that it's rogue tentacles will cut through our strings. I fear that our ties were just an illusion waiting to be brushed off by your cold hands. Therefore, I am afraid I can not move any closer to you. I know not of your milky way. I know not whether it has a faint shadow of mine in it. I only know that in my cosmos your smell lingers in every dusk. I can only give you the benefit of doubt, and pray, oh lord, I pray that I too, exist in your mind. Then again, I am still my worst fear.
Yours even as I fear to be.