Her feet strike the wood floor matching my gait.

I can’t see her but I know she is there as I often hear her talking with ghosts of people we both held dear.

She walks alongside me to my coffee shop keeping me company at the place where we once knew everyone, but now no more.

My children who used to cling to her and thought she was their hero look around her beyond her and still don’t see her.

She spends most of her time with me, alone.

She is my ghost shuffling through my empty hallways.