I am not the only one.

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Some of them know, as I do, that I get really close.  Some of them might even know some things I don't.  I don't know what day, what year, where, or how.  Has it already come and I am there?  No.  I wondered that for a long time.  No longer.  This last time, I was almost sure.  I wasn't alone.  I... see it in their eyes, hear it in their voice.  They thought I was to die.  What is it they know, or suspect, that I don't?  Did they simply suspect?  Odd if so, they are beginning to be able to know.  They seem satisfied that I yet live, if perplexed.  Like as if Ol' Yeller made it through the sickness.  They know I am not... usual.  I have known... for most of my existence.  Many don't even believe in all that.  Some are beginning to see.  Few like that, even if... they are open to it.  Then again, who has to like much.

Who likes that they have to hurt, or die, or more that others have to die around them, and first?  Natural, everyone does it, and all that, doesn't quite cut it.  Who likes that we must eat, or talk sometimes, or sleep, or any of those body things?  Who even likes that we not only can, but should, consider these things?  Who likes that, no matter the care, we can still smell awful?  Or that we can be wrong.  Or that we have to be wrong, in many ways, in order to learn.  Who wants to believe that a perfect Being had to be murdered so that there was a hope for more than just this, or worse?  It seems confusing.  The world, and all these things, believed or cast off yet suffered, make life so claustrophobic sometimes.  As this music video expresses, at least for me.

And more.  The past and the present collide.  Is it she who haunts me.  Or do I haunt her?  Which her and which me?  So many shadows and doubts.  Yes, the living the and dead.  I am both, one woman is dead the other quite alive.  Which is which, and which I fear, on either side, on any given day...  Yeah... she moves me.  And she frightens me.  How do I give up the one without losing both?  What must I give of up of myself?  Just... more questions.

I heard it, recently, and again.  Beside the many echos of the notion in my mind, from so many different voices, some of them mine through my times... the shadow of a ghost.  It gets so thin.  If it actually physically hurts, and in such a way that I know and can really feel it, at least I know I am alive.  But is that right?  It's the deal I made.  I don't have a choice in the matter.  I am a shadow of a ghost sometimes.  Thin.  Less even in this last best of the worst than before, because it actually hurt.  Hurts?  We'll see.  Today was okay.  Tomorrow will tell.

Good night.