Her Ghost

 

She was the only one that I know of, that is able to hold onto a ghost.

Not just hold, but cradle and adore that pronunciated eidolon. She made him hers, and really held to it with a faith of intrinsic knowing that is so rare for our kind.  It was sweet, and to me, so heart strainingly naive.

And more, she believed in the reality of her ghost. She made him real by that believing, and that was how she was able to caress him tenderly. Just like that,  with belief. That was all that it took for her to bring his universe to reality.

How fucking credulous!?

Even me in all my finesse and athleticism, I have never been able to touch the invisible and dance with it.

How she did it, I don’t have even the faintest clue?

But there she was in front of me, twirling and giggling. She was so carefree that she floated a full inch above where the rest of us trudge and leave footprints.

Her ghost of him, made her buoyant and graceful, and she radiated from her core the love that she carried for him. She loved him with her whole actuality.

I couldn’t see him, her ghost.

But because of her,  and how I witnessed  her smile as she turned circles,  I too completely believed in him.

I didn’t have to see him, she saw for me. I believed in that greater achievement, because of her.

But then my skepticism whispered my own ghosts of doubt and disappointments.

How do you tangibly create substance of matter from memory and emotion, and build a fortress of diamonds from love unrequited?

Isn’t that backwards?

Where was her hate, that if it was me,  I would be seething in?

How does one hold to that, in a foul and despicable world?

But she clung to her reality of him, and bore the heartache of loving an apparition in full ownership.

She churned the sadness of salty souls of it into healing sunshine of love, all in the twirls of her billowing free flowing skirt.

Each rotation of twirl, strengthened her grip on the invisible. It mesmerized and it hypnotized, and strengthened her vise grip on me.

It made me want what only she could see.

It made me want her.

I needed her ghost.

So I believed.

I embraced the madness, and twirled a misaligned figure eight to join her ghost in a menage a trois number in the middle of our created dance-floor of fairy told dreams.

 

 

~m

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