Hello, Ghost.

I’ve been seeing a lot of you lately. I admit, much more than I would like.

This is a small world and we’re bound to run into each other occasionally. Accidents and coincidences. But occasionally, my paranoia makes me feel that this time wasn’t a coincidence. Or last time. Or the time before.

You’re deeply ingrained in my memory. You taught me more than you can imagine, but I don’t suppose you’d like to know exactly what: To keep my eyes open, to look over my shoulder, to distrust voices that sound like yours, and keep my distance from postures that look like yours.

Not all memories of you are bad, which makes them complicated. You show up in conversations sometimes, as the author of a joke or the deliverer of some grain of gold. Sometimes you also show up in dreams, where we get to talk things over and get closure, then they turn into nightmares as you mistake civility for an invitation to control, just like when you were around.

Physical distance helps create the illusion of safety, but information is awfully easy to access, and we share too much of a network for us to never hear of what we’re up to. It doesn’t matter where we are, there will always be ways for us to find each other if we look. So if you come across these words I want you to know: I am aware of you, in all your forms and with all your names and all your tales and all your lies.

Come at me.

I can’t bother to be afraid of ghosts anymore.

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