Dear ghost,
He shared a scene from my past where I was flying. Oblivious of my fall, he said he always knew of my flight. But dear old friend, that scene was just a frozen moment from my fall. Now, in this wake of the night, I fear he will know what I was made of.
Can you hear the echo of my beating heart? It sounds just as that twilight when I saw the end break. The sound is an evidence of my hypocrisy. I have dressed in awe so many times. I have made them believe the mask of mine. Now, I fear they shall see me at the end of my fall. Back on the wounded earth with the pieces of my tower.
Yours even as I fear to be.