We live in a land where where the footprints of ghosts linger.

That’s why I see you everywhere.

In the halls walking with that smile on your face

In the choir room singing with such grace

At your house where you spent your final days.

Even the cardboard on the ground keeps your memory around

And when someone asks for a hug I can’t help but think about breaking down

And now when I see someone walking I can’t help but think about the last time I heard your sound.

And I can’t help but wonder if I did this to myself, I highlighted my hair and made it shorter to make it look like yours, got new glasses that remind me of yours, even my smile in pictures look just like yours. Why do I torture myself like this?

Is this my way of letting go? Or just keeping you here? Maybe it’s time to let go, maybe it’s time to move on. Everyone else has, if I ask someone walking down the street who Lillian was they will shrug and just keep on walking.

They say the final stage of grief is acceptance, but it seems to me it’s just an endless cycle. Denial, anger, bargaining, and depression, but no acceptance.

If I accept that your gone, then you’ll be forgotten.

non existent.

So I’ll just keep on living, with my (_your) _glasses, and my (_your)_ hair, and even my (_your_) clothes, even friends at school say I look like your, and I think it’s because I don’t want you to be a ghost any longer.