Would You Haunt Me

If you came to your end and I remained, would you haunt me? Would I see you in those familiar places, or catch a glimpse of you in a crowd? Would you stand behind me in a queue, and I fear to turn and see? Would the hairs bristle on my neck at the sense of your presence? Would I remember a smile, a laugh, a gesture, and see them in another, and you be angry that I did? Would you haunt me? If I implored the depths above or beneath and turned my heart to continual petition, would you haunt me? And if I raged at the space where once you stood, and I begged you, would you haunt me? If I watched through my tears, and listened for your soft footfalls, would you come? Would you haunt me? If I summoned you from your somewhere sleep, would you venture? Would you haunt me?