You never wrote back, but I read every line—
In letters I dreamed up and signed in your sign.
They came in the wind or the drip of the sink,
In shadows that pause just a moment to think.
I fed on illusions, I watered my pain,
I swore that your absence would soon explain.
But days turn to years, and still I believe,
That ghosts only vanish when we stop to grieve.
---nyn