I often tell myself–don’t write in the wee hours of the morning.
But I still do. Because I am a ghost. I am the only kind of ghost I believe in–a human, ordinary human, haunted by the past.
Losses of the past. No one is haunted by the gains, the victories, the trophies.
We are haunted by the what-ifs, would have beens, and hairpin turns on dark highways.
I have been a ghost since 1998 when I lost Veronica.
I began to rattle my chains in 2009 when I lost a slew of other people.
Also ghosts, all of them.
I say all of this because tomorrow I will exercise my ghost. Myself.
I will run, jump, and glide in order to remind myself of the very most fundamental lesson of metaphysics–
How we live matters
How we die matters more
And how we live again: most of all.
There are no ghosts in heaven
You must wake
To get there.