Written August 19, 2008

I feel distant this morning. As the gray rain drips from heavy clouds and seeps its way deep into the earth, I feel the presence of an unwanted visitor. It looms in the corner of the room, watching my morning routine and follows me like a ghost through the halls of this building. I feel its hollow eyes stare into my back, longing for contact, longing for acknowledgment that I am hesitant to grant.

I catch glimpses of its shapeless form, pausing for a moment to contemplate it’s resemblance. At times it is oppressive, dark and ghoulish, mournfully wailing a silent lament that only my ears hear. It grows and shrinks like a hungry fire, rising and falling in a graceful and terrible dance. And at times it’s face is familiar and oddly comforting, like a memory that returns to consciousness after years of absence.

It is a heavy companion to bare, though weightless and floating, drifting by my side. It’s there when I awake in the morning, and when I go to bed at night. Not easily ignored but easily denied, it is patient and eager for attention. And at the days end, when I look into it’s sad empty eyes and embrace it with tearful gasps, I am overwhelmed with a loneliness that only comes from its company.

Someday my visitor will begin to fade, slowly losing solidity and distancing itself from my daily steps. We each carry our ghosts I suspect, some of us have many more than others. Throughout our lives they come and go, shrinking and growing in stature and demand, but always waiting patiently in our minds for a moment of reflection.