The Ghost Girl

You must be some sort of divinity. Your sparse manifestations become less frequent over the years. Always carrying the banner of Hope, though bound you may be. But that inebriates me with a sense of tangible Freedom, felt in every skin pore.

From time to time you show up, like an apparition, telling me your tales of grief and sorrow. You feed me with the false illusion that I can play a role in your life. I hear your pain but I can't feel it. I wish I could. But you won't let me in. You tirelessly row with broken oars against the cynical and treacherous tides, alone and brave; you walk amongst your kin like a Ghost Girl, not expecting help, coaching or support from anyone; your dedication to your principles seems to lead into a path of obsession: an obsession to "do good" and to walk away from the shackles that restrain you.

I wish you could feel the air that surrounds you. I wish you would come out of your protective dome and stop pursuing your goals in such a painstakingly way, enduring great deprivation. As noble as they may be, they are chased through a road paved with degradation and mayhem. The air I breathe is not pure. But it's better than holding my breath.