I have nicknames and designations for all my friends.
You, not a ghost but a phantom, not a ghost because you are my friend, always, and I will always love you.
But a phantom, an echoed impression of a  old friend.
Foggy, misty, silhouetted figure with a familiar outline and unfamiliar details.
Looking for the person you wee in the ancient days of my youth like looking for rice in a snowstorm.
Not trying to rekindle an old flame you see,
but trying to find the fire-words to light a new one.