I am a stranger in my own house. I walk the rooms, my feet moving almost silently of their own accord. I see my long fingers touch things. Can a ghost move things? Because I can, and I do. But it registers nothing. I move about, interacting and touching, but pale, seeing nothing.
Perhaps ghosts are no more than lonely people, moving under lack of company or compassion for too long.
But small things bring me back to life. Watching a bird take flight, with a spread of delicate but strong wings; the smile of a child, full of innocent sunshine; the warm familiarity of the embrace of someone who cares, reminding me of the fluttering heart within my chest.
Does that mean that these other ghosts, these sorrowful spirits of loneliness, can also come back to life? Do they only walk as apparitions because of the weight of the knowledge that no one cares–no one has in many years.
What if you were to speak to one? Would it be as surprised as you? And beyond just speaking, what if you came back? What if you kept at it? Would a transformation take place before your eyes, almost too gradual to see?
The eyes will become fixed, animated, finally able to see. The transparent and insignificant will become not only significant, but meaningful. Color will rise. Breath will be drawn and air will be tasted. And then, one day, a hand will find your own, warm and inviting, pulsing with life. The solid fingers will squeeze, shy and hesitant at first, until feeling fills the void and arms, like bands of tender strength, are wrapped around you in gratitude of the new life you have given.
Ghosts are only people, after all.