i've been seeing ghosts for as long as i can remember now. they sit idly on my bed, making small talk with the skeletons who play poker on my closet floor. they call. flush, straight, empty hands as the cards fall through the gaps between their fingers. together they brush worries out of my hair, one by one. they have nothing else to do, and neither do i.
as strands of my hair are placed gently behind my ear. they speak to me, but mostly among themselves. "i can't tell you when it gets better, kid. i can't tell you if it ever does."