Ethereal or no, they must still feel my eyes on them.
Even a haunt should feel the hairs that stand on the back of your neck when someone watches you – right?
Living in a ghost state, it’s bound to happen almost any day. Almost every day. Someone through the wispy haze you used to know, a pale glimmer that once was a warm smile. Yet, what do I want? The brief brush of their incorporeal fingers on mine, making my hands further cold and alone? A sign of recognition and solemn nod, acknowledging the past that lingers for no one but me?
That’s one thing about a ghost state – you can’t burn it down. Flames don’t register on their insubstance. Tear down or dig up or build upon the sundered ground, it will always be a ghost state. They may never acknowledge you – but they will never go away.
