hauntology:

I’ve watched the shadows on the walls, haunted so long.

The ghosts, like friends.

Specters of the past, visions of a dying future.

Or perhaps I’m the phantom.

I feel ephemeral.

My soul gaunt and pale.

It doesn’t matter the side of the veil.

We’re engineered to suffer.

It’s for building character they said.

I’d prefer to be a shade.

To give meaning to the fear.

To hide the truth,

we suffer because we can.

What was that vague memory?

Haunting the edge of thought.

I could swear I once reached out,

brushed the hem of her robe.

My fingers remember the promise.

I saw her, a ghost.

Her gown of gossamer light

floating

on

the

wind,

a

dancer.