September 19, 2024

Dear ghost,

When I have creases on my skin, I hope my words play in better tone. When my wobbling voice grows up, I hope my soul ferments like fine wine. When my mind has wrinkles, hopefully, I see the nectar of life. When I have seen lot more than tomorrow, I hope my taste know better. Hopefully, I am not what I fear and detest. I want the old me to know me and be me. I want to age like the moon, ever changing yet ever constant.

Yours even as I fear to be.