A Ghost Writes

in the stillness of the night where shadows weave their tales an envelope drifts weightless through silence ancient parchment frayed by the breath of time it bears no return address only the faint aroma of forgotten dreams and echoes a whisper carried on the back of the wind i unfold the letter my fingers trembling as ink flows like liquid night each word a spectral sigh a whisper traced in sorrow from a world unseen dear keeper of solitude it begins do you feel the weight of my presence the dim light flickering at the edge of your vision i am the shadow that dances between the creases of your memory the words curl and twist on the page murmuring stories of lost hopes of laughter that once filled the corners of a room now empty i hear the echoes soft as mist of voices long stilled tell me, do you remember the hush of autumn’s breath the promise of summer’s dawn moments like stars some fading, some bright they linger, reaching for hands that can no longer grasp i pause, lost in the tapestry of thoughts noticing how the ink bleeds smudging the line between past and present where time forgets to tread do not weep for me, it pleads i linger not in sorrow but in the beauty of the ephemeral life is a dance of shadows and i am but a note a fleeting whisper in your landscape outside, the wind stirs carrying the weight of its message into the emptiness i draw a breath feeling the chill of its presence etched against my skin and in that moment, i understand we are all scribes of stories haunted by echoes of memories our souls are ink stitching the living to the lost holding hands across the divide with trembling fingers i seal the letter again each word a shimmering thread tying me to the unseen reminding me that even in absence there is beauty, even in silence a voice that lingers a ghost that writes