There is a ghost that follows me where I walk and wander. The ghost has a name and I should like to call it "The Wanderer". It follows me like my shadow follows my soul. Wherever I go, it goes. A loyal ghost at that, and one could assume that it must be a professional at haunting. For it has been with me so long as I could remember, it doesn't falter nor fade away. You would think the abyss might swallow it whole after so many years of stumbling through many a puddle and ghastly broken and tattered roads. It does not leave my side, it's occupation I consider to be the ghost that fills the empty side of my life. Never leaving me alone in the dark, but staying with me when the dark is too much and all the stars I have wished upon pleading "stop wishing for a better life". And so, often do I ponder upon the thought that if my ghost would ever leave me rusted and scented of must. I can personally detest that so far it has not. My ghost "The Wanderer" doesn't have the guts nor gall to leave me broken, trembling in the dusty valves of my heart nor let me wither when you and I part hearts.  
© 2014 Christina Jackson