The Ghost

The Ghost

Life, in my opinion, can often be compared to a glitterball. You dance
under it while it sparkles and shines, it casts visions to your eyes of
what you may one day know, but the true beauty always hangs just out of
reach. The same analogy could be attributed to love, until now.

I remember the days of dreaming, a hazy memory in faded tones, the days
of wanting so much to have the person by my side who understood the
need to love and to be loved. Not for any mercenary intent, not for
money, not for status, nor the hollow feeling of love by association.
These things are not love, just assimilations of your personality, a
draining of your soul for purely selfish needs. I grew so very weary of
this emotional vampirism, my only experiences never filling or
fulfilling me, instead just the constant feeding of a greedy appetite
with intentions only to empty my heart. And yes, my heart was becoming
empty, desolate, a derelict building with a wild wind blowing through
it's open doors, a wind that cut to the bone. My heart became as lonely
as the empty halls I now haunt.

She was alone, though not alone. Loneliness sometimes has a partner,
and sometimes that can fool you into thinking you have company. At
night, when she slept, she heard the reedy whisper of winds through her
dreams. She swore she could hear a voice, thin yet perceptible,
reaching out from beyond all she knew, enquiring if she was truly
happy. Inside she knew she was searching for a feeling, a feeling that
connects worlds, that can create a universe, a feeling that can never
be eloquently explained by philosophers, that can never be diminished
by doubt, that can never be quantified, priced, valued or weighed, a
feeling as strong as hope and as fragile as a tear. Love.

The wind that whispered through her head that night was the ghost. He
sat alone, as he did every night, reaching out to the one he knew
existed, hoping for a glimmer of those lights, a touch on his wispy
skin, a finger to beckon him back from his prison, and a kind word to
welcome his return. The ghost had begun that night with the same ennui
that had been crushing him for so long. He was beginning to lose the
will to try, fearing that a soft and gentle soul did not exist in this
world. He pitied humankind and often wept on their behalf, as even if
he had no heart to beat or skin to caress he felt so much more
fortunate than the ones who did but would not allow themselves to feel.
It also made him angry that people could squander a gift so precious by
never yielding to it, by being afraid to give themselves over to a
passionate act.

This night the ghost was not angry, he was sorrowful. His eyes brimmed
with tears he howled at the moons pale face with a need that made the
trees shake, a want that made the grass wave, with a voice that only
lovers that seek their missing half can hear. All at once the ghost
felt a touch, a soft finger ran across his lips and the sensation of
emptiness lifted for those few moments. The moon was falling, and the
sun started to rise. The ghost realised that what had seemed a few mere
moments had actually been hours. She exists!

She had gone to sleep this same night with the thought that she should
reach out and answer this voice that she heard. As she sank into the
warmth of sleep she saw a tunnel, in the dreamy haze her mind gave her
form, she saw her arm outstreched, as fleshy and corporeal as her real
hand. With shallow breath for fear of what she'd find at the end of
this tunnel she floated forward on a gentle breeze. Up ahead of her she
could make out a shape, non discernable at that moment, but a shape
nonetheless. As she drew closer she could see it was a face, the joy of
her discovery soured quickly when she saw how unhappy the face was.
Realising that she had a presence in this world, and that she had a
hand with which to comfort the face she pressed a finger to his
translucent lips and begged him not to cry. As she did this she gazed
at the face, the warmth around her grew steadily warmer, she felt as
though wrapped in a blanket, swaddled in caring, as though the
heaviness, which lay on her, was being lifted. All at once she started
to recede down the tunnel, her hand still outstretched but the face
becoming distant, the dream becoming more surreal and morning beckoning
like a train stopping at a station. She awoke full of emotion, of a
gladness she thought she would never hold, but now that she had tasted
she would never relinquish her grasp. He exists!

The ghost hovered invisibly, patiently awaiting the suns descent and
his love to close her eyes. He was uncertain for the first time, his
mind filled with thoughts as fast as bullets. Will she come again? What
if she does not? Is this the one? Does she feel the same of me? The
ghost paced nervously back and forth within his thoughts, although in
the depths of his soul he was safe in the knowledge that the woman from
beyond his realm would surely return. And return she did. This time the
ghost and the woman found words; they spoke the night away talking of
love, of sharing, of dreams and desires, of passion and pleasure, of
ideas and idealism that neither had ever dreamt possible. For the first
time in years the ghost actually laughed, the sound springing from his
lips like a trickling stream, and pleasing the ears of the woman like
the same. Both the ghost and the woman wished upon everything they held
dear that this night would never draw to a close. But with the surety
of time, the night did end, not before they had vowed never to part, as
long as theirs was the blanket of night and undiscovered was the haven
of dreams they would meet there forevermore.

Neither the ghost nor the woman feared night again, now that it was
theirs. What had been a time for emptiness, for fear, for sleeplessness
and sorrow was now a time for rejoicing, for happiness, for smiling and
most importantly for love. They had cast off the emptiness of never
feeling complete, the fear of being alone, the sleeplessness that comes
to the discontent and the sorrow that love unrequited brings. And had
embraced the rejoicing of two hearts that have joined to make one, the
happiness of finding your match, the smile in a simple touch that
brings contentment and the love of lovers who shall never feel apart in
body or soul ever after.

So the lovers kept meeting, never tiring of each others sweet words or
spectral touch, just to have found each other and find each other true
was enough to keep them bound. As their love flourished the ghost
started to notice that the woman's touch felt more material. What had
been unsubstantial was now beginning to take form, the empty vessel of
his heart was beginning to fill with the heady wine from her lips, the
shapelessness of his soul was gathering a shape that spelt only her
name.

Gradually the ghost began to throw off the shackles of his solitude and
started to enter the world of the woman he loved. She had held out a
hand without reserve, and he had taken it in his without remorse. The
spell of torment finally broken, the ghost was led back from his
nightly confines into daylight by his lover. Blinking he opened his
newborn eyes and gazed into the eyes of eternity, they both smiled
coyly and bid farewell to their old and tired ways by kissing a new
world into existence.

Love, in my opinion can be likened to a dance floor. Sometimes all you
feel are feet on your back, awkward treads and uncertain steps that
give you no pleasure and make a clumsy mockery of your existence, but
every once in a while you feel the feathery touch of grace and
elegance, a surety and certainty that makes you cry out in happiness to
be reminded of what your true purpose always was. The same analogy can
be attributed to life, especially now.

End.