September 30, 2025
Dear ghost,
Being with you feels like a chill gripping me in a tunnel. I shiver in a struggle to savor sunlight at the end of it. Loving your ghost stings of a winter gone bad. Such cold reaches for all warmth, even that of a dirt. I am at lost. I know I never missed you. Perhaps, my poems were craving you. But when your cold finger tip lightly seize my heart, I am ever buried in your loneliness. I anxiously breathe less. I know I never called for you. Why are you knocking on my conscious all over again?
Yours even as I fear to be
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