A year has passed. I'd probably have forgotten you long ago, if only nostalgia hadn't borrowed your name; it now wears your face like a mask; it speaks with your voice; it has learned to transform your absence into a memory of your presence.

Dear Ghost, your alibis were never worth a damn. You're either lying to me or to yourself- and I can’t tell which one is preferable. Though I've painted a perfect picture of you, deep inside I suspect you're just as human as the rest of us. Still, I'd give up the world for a chance to explore your flaws like undiscovered continents.
Does that frighten you?

Such confessions are not really my style; this one is so openly cryptic it hardly makes a difference. Sometimes I sit and wonder, why can't you be here, why don’t you even wish you were here, what have I done to deserve being stuck in an unrealizable ideal…then I remember you are exactly where you should remain: in my head.