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.

(I just hope he’s happy, really)