The ghost of a boy I once knew sits quietly on my shoulder. He’s making me self conscious of what I write about him. I know he can see. I know he’s watching. As my eyes flutter to the new him across the room, I realize how odd it is that he reminds so few of the memories I do. It’s almost as though I made him up in my mind.
(I probably did)
Though he’s small enough to sit on my shoulder, I know old him does not mind one bit. Whispering words of encouragement in my ear. He always had more faith in me than I ever had in myself. I know he only made me stronger. I know he only made me better. But I cannot help but miss the way he held my hand. I cannot help but miss the way he made me feel. I was the best version of myself around him. I can honestly say he made me very happy. I wish I had made him happy, too.