We walk like ghosts pale and unseen.
Only a dim glimmer of what we used to be.
Like the breeze, they only feel the draft of our movements, and our whispers are so faint the ones who can hear them question their sanity.
We can’t move like people because that’s what they are looking for
Instead we move like the wind, undeniable, invisible, and unquestionable.
We walk like ghosts because we are brushed off as such, and the terror of our meaning keeps their prying eyes at bay.
They hope for a useful distraction.
Anything to avoid dealing with the truth.
That we’re out there.
We’re real.
And we are something to be scared of.
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