Like a ghost in the wall, I long for your voice. I’m starving to hear your echo through the halls; to feel vibrations from miles away.
I long for the day that I can hear you say again all of the phrases and all of the words that made me shudder – that made me happy to be heard by your eager ears.
I held you dear. I miss you, dear.
And I miss your bright eyes, and your words so wise they sometimes brought me to tears in being all of the things that I have always been so afraid to hear.
But when delivered to me in your peaceful tone, even my greatest fears made me feel at home while swaddled in your arms.
The distance hasn’t made the sound fade at all even in my memory that waivers as I age….
Oh, I age, and like wine the years only make me a little bit more bitter but more or less worth my own weight in gold.
Still, I love to be your ghost. To never see you and yet to ravenously seek the bits of you you’ll never know, your many facets that you never showed;
You hid from me even in the bright lights of day.
Your voice echos over the ages, over many seasons and over many stages in which our lives play on like staged shows where no one knows what the ending will be,
Not for you, or me. Yet like a ghost in the wall, I watch you.
I yearn for your call to bring me back to life, or your silence to let me haunt you with my aching desire.
I wish to light a spark underneath your skin so intense and burning that when you touch me,
I have no choice but to breathe again – the way you did before I became the ghost in your walls.