The ghost and I, we shared some space
sometimes she found me and sometimes I her
sometimes I reached out, in longing
it was futile, the ghost was fleeting
there was no pattern, no semblance
to her moods that I could understand
sometimes she reached out, in hope?
of perhaps some tenderness and camaraderie?
or of friendship and intimacy?
maybe it was all of them
or maybe I'm delusional in happiness
then let me feed into this delusion
hope is a good thing, the best of things
I hope ghosts can still hope
maybe we were friends, maybe we weren't
maybe we were close, maybe we weren't
all this was hard to say, hard to define
the ghost and I, we just shared some space

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