I know they can’t look at me. It’s too hard to look and not see the ghost hovering. With each step, it’s more apparent; with each thought, it becomes clearer.

How does one face down a venerated villain? Especially when it seems you’re the only one willing to remove the rose-colored glasses? The very things you fear and despise and run away from in others are just lying in wait inside you, waiting for the right moment to reveal their terrible glory.

We all want to celebrate the good moments but we dwell and wallow so much easier in trauma and drama.

So I’m allowed in polite society but held at arms length. They can’t let me forget I belonged to someone somewhere, just not them, not here. I nod and try to follow along but I just don’t understand what they’re saying. The more people that show up, the lonelier I feel.

I decide to take a walk at night. The ghost is almost a solid apparition now. With little imagination I feel the old scars opening to new wounds. Haven’t we traveled this road often enough we don’t even need the streetlight anymore? The air is heavy, warm, and smells of summer rain.

I know this is how it will be when it’s my time to be a ghost. I know how the air will feel, how the words will taste, and how it will sound when all is quiet but for our steps. I know they’ll continue to look right through me when I’m a ghost.

I just want them to turn and look now, for I am very much alive and curious and ready and present. If they can ignore the ghost that watches, we can move forward. I am not an apparition; I am flesh and light and song. There will be time to quiet and soothe old hurts. There will be room to stretch and grow and plant things. But not until they see only me can we put aside old dreams and make new ones.