July 6, 2014
The day is normal. Life goes on, people move forward and time runs quickly more than anybody else. People walk-run to catch up with time that’s been trickling steadfastly though them, conveniently ignoring or passing through the others that seem to float around and all over those who are caught up in the routine.
Those who do their best to make others think that they are alive, but are usually not given any attention. Those who are forgotten by the people who surround them or those who don’t remember that they’re dead, who do their best to do what they’re supposed to do, even though they’re not much but thin air.
Ghosts. Or if they’re still breathing, husks of people we knew. People who function but has nothing but function left. The passion snuffed out in their eyes.
Look at the people, find out who still has the fury resting beneath those eyelids, the passion for life. And have the strength to stare at those ghosts who are abandoned or forgotten, but still walk the day to day without tire or complaint. Then look in the mirror and ask if the fire has been dead, if you’re a ghost all along.
I can’t tell if i am the ghost or you are.
You seem to haunt me on a constant basis. I seem to want to see you or haunt you myself, every time i remember you. I feel your eyes watching me, though I’ll never know if it’s longing or hatred that I will find in those orbs.
Then the want of haunting you returns as this bright light emanating from a hollow core. But then again, the lights dim and at the end of the day, we float back into the normal life, believing that all that happened is just a passing thought, that it was not a bright light. Then we are conscious of the fact that we are ghosts, both of us.
It’s just you, haunted by the person in the mirror.
Sometimes you wish the haunting stops, but you secretly wish it won’t.