The Ghost
James, Age 16, Evansville, IN
                      She gazed at her reflection and went pale.
As silence fell and time stretched on for miles,
A figure in the door looked back and smiled.
Then he was gone. She searched to no avail.
This is not just a bad horror story.
The woman felt privileged that he picked her;
Although, he was almost nothing but a blur
Fleetingly he was more than memory.
Maybe this was just his way of healing
From the lasting pain of being long dead
Showing us all that he won’t be dismissed.
A window shutting by itself, the feeling
Of someone unknown sitting on your bed
This is their way of saying "I exist."
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ISSN 1703-3020

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