She's been talking more and more, answering questions I ask and telling me about herself. I haven't pushed, letting her decide what and when to tell me.

It's been decades since I tried to interact with anyone beyond consoling those that come to the graveyard.

I felt myself constantly drawn there after my death, especially after my eldest and best friend was buried several years ago.

Drunk driving took him. Gone too soon.

I'd watched her that day... Standing as if frozen. Numb to the world around her. I'd remembered that feeling when I'd died, recognized the hollowness in her eyes.

She was burying her hope that day.

Literally. In all the times I'd watched funerals, I'd never seen someone take the shovel and bury their own the way she did. I'd been drawn to her... the way she was slowly cracking, yet stood despite the way her life was falling apart in front of her.

When she'd fallen to her knees, I'd flinched. When she cried out, it tore at my soul.

I couldn't help offering her comfort, then, and she hadn't flinched away. Hadn't looked around in fear.

She'd relaxed, ever so slightly, under my touch... she'd felt me. Not everyone can.

Over the decades, I've watched the world change as a passenger to time. Unable to interact with anyone, unable to participate... only a watcher. The world seems more complicated than it was when I was alive. Honestly, it seems to get more and more depressing over time.

Fewer problems solved than I expected, less progress... I thought I'd get to see Star Trek become real life. Maybe get to see a DeLorean, or at least a hoverboard without wheels.

Instead, it seemed like more problems were popping up than were solved. Unable to be a part of the world forced me to see it differently, to form opinions that may have been different if I were still alive.

I had a lot of time for reflection, I suppose.

I'd felt lost for a long time. I've never met another... whatever I am. A phantom? A ghost? What's the right word for something like me? I'm not really sure. As far as I know, there aren't any others - perhaps they're simply too far away.

I never left the borders of the town, and the further I moved away the more I felt pulled back, so I'm not even sure if I could.

But I watched... I followed people through their lives, watched the town build up, watched stores close and homes empty, then people would move in and it would all pick up again.

I watched the news on their televisions, read the internet over their shoulders, and even attended some of the classes in schools sometimes to see if things had changed.

But I wasn't a part of it. I was simply... there.

When she'd reacted to me, I found I was drawn even more toward her than to the graveyard. So, I'd followed her home. She seemed so lost... so alone. I understood that, and I wanted to do... something, I guess.

I want to know everything about her. To help her... to comfort her. The more I learn, the more addicted I am to this little slice of peace she's carved out for herself.

She only leaves to volunteer and run errands.

She only has one visitor... I like Austin, in theory, but I find myself jealous of his relationship with her.

Which is ridiculous since he has a body and I don't. What could I possibly offer her other than nice words and a phantom's touch.

But I feel it anyway. Every time he visits, which is at least weekly, the jealousy burns in me.

Right up until he brushes her hand or moves in for a hug... I've noticed she doesn't relax like she does with me.

Not quite sure what to make of that.

She's a creature of habit. Gets up before the sun every day, even on the weekends. She makes her coffee, works out, and then has breakfast without fail before going about the rest of her day.

She works from the second bedroom in a plain office, and her job seems miserable. I've wanted to scream at the people she talks to for being so damn rude and disrespectful... but she always stays calm and composed.

The days she volunteers she's treated much better, though the work is harder on her. When she comes home those days she's physically exhausted, but she still finds time to make it out to the garden every night.

I find myself impressed by her. Each day is pretty much the same, and it's clear she finds comfort in the routine.

I watched her day after day for months, simply being present so she wasn't so alone. I watched and I listened, and longer I did the more questions formed in my mind. I had so many questions I wanted to ask so many times.

When I'd spoken to her that day on the patio the questions had just escaped from me. I was genuinely so confused I couldn't help but ask.

I was shocked she'd heard me. Even more shocked she hadn't run or screamed, just gotten up all calm and looked around... then accepted she was losing her mind.

It would have been funny if I wasn't so worried about how easily she resigned herself to the idea.

I knew she carried burdens beyond her Omi's death, a weight that never left her... it must have been so heavy for her to assume she'd cracked without second guessing it.

Her little internet search into schizophrenia had me panicking for a minute... what if she went to get checked out and they treated her for hearing voices?

I'd decided if she went in that I'd leave - terrified for what that would mean for her.

I'd relaxed after a few days though when she decided that since I wasn't telling her to go on a murdering spree there was no need to seek treatment for a disease she doesn't have.

Thank goodness.

I can't help touching her... the way she reacts is intoxicating. I haven't interacted with anyone in so many years, and to be able to have a conversation and offer physical reassurance to someone is... well, it's addictive.

I'd craved it for so long, but even I didn't realize how incredible it would be to have it again. The touch is different from when I was alive - a warmth that spreads through me - but powerful nonetheless.

In the beginning, I'd only touched her when she seemed to need comfort... but now, well... I touch her because I want to too.

Never too far. Never inappropriate. I'd never violate someone like that. Just... affection. Affection she clearly needs, and I crave to offer.

She doesn't flinch away, and recently... she's even leaned into my touch.

It's simultaneously maddening and exhilarating.

She's a beautiful woman. Smart and funny, patient and calm... if I were alive, I'd still be drawn to her.

She's even more introverted than I was, and it makes me smile to think that if we could have been... something... I'd have been the outgoing one.

Today though... today something shifted in me. She shared her burden with me, and a protectiveness I didn't realize I could feel for another person exploded out of me.

My heart shattered into a thousand pieces as she told me her story, and all I wanted was to hold her. Protect her from the world... from her own memories.

I'd wrapped my arms around her, desperate to take the burden from her entirely... instead I settled for the only small comfort I could offer her.

When she'd told me she wanted me to stay... the smile that broke across the face she can't see would have hurt my cheeks if I still had them.

I want to stay with her too. I wish I could do more... be more for her and to her... but this will have to be enough.

I'll make sure she never feels like she's alone again.

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