Am I just a ghost...
A whisper in the wind,
lingering but never staying.

I walk through lives,
leaving fingerprints on hearts I’ll never call my own.
A fleeting touch,
a moment stolen,
and then.....then nothing.
The air around me holds my presence
longer than any memory ever could.

But what is a ghost
if not a story untold?
Perhaps I am a story, fragmented,
searching for an author who dares to write me whole.
Or maybe I am the ink,
staining pages that were never mine to begin with.

I drift... I drift
not in search of love,
but meaning,
of something that roots me to this world.

Love makes you foolish,
makes you brave.
It makes you vulnerable, yes,
but isn’t that what makes us human?
Or in my case,
what makes me almost human?

I wonder can ghosts fall in love?
and in doing so,
find a way to become real again?
To be more than a shadow,
to feel warmth,
not as a memory but as a promise.

Perhaps I am not just a ghost.
Perhaps I am a lesson
a reminder that to exist is to be vulnerable,
to love is to risk everything,
even your very essence.

And maybe, just maybe,
in the end, that’s enough.
To have been here,
to have left even the faintest mark,
is a kind of immortality.

And so, I wander.
A ghost, yes,
not a seeker , not a dreamer
Just a whisper longing to be a voice.