ghost

I told a lie that I had seen the

worst of me and was

comfortable. I have seen

only part of me and am

not comfortable. I am

uneasy. I leave myself

cold. I leave myself,

and look back and think

is that what I looked like

then; and now I cannot

look in the mirror for fear

of seeing that ghost

lurking, or is it simply

willing me to come back?

I am sorry that I lost you,

that you that I hated but

only really misunderstood.

It is so much less exciting

than hating; or scalding; or

more opposite to that and

loving or understanding or

feeling comfortable with. It

is just not knowing and not

caring enough. That ghost

is nothing to me except for

being me. And I am nothing

to me without it. I told a lie

when I said I had seen the

worst of me. For I have not

even seen me. I have only

seen my ghost.