Dear ghost,
To few of you flowers, I planted a seemingly courageous warrior in your mind. I awfully dread the day when I walk into the eye of a hurricane and I stand as I am: an unbecoming cowering hunchback. I fear day and night. I worry through all storms. I hope with every sunrise that I am not this seed. I want to swallow the warrior until I digest it. I want it to run in my veins until I manifest it. But I have long since buried it under the flowers and the flowers have already dried yet the warrior have not risen.
Yours even as I fear to be.