Look at me.

"She stood apart from moral interests, yet close beside them, like a ghost that revisits the familiar fireside and can no longer make itself seen or felt, no more smile with the household joy, nor mourn with the kindred sorrow; or, should it succeed in manifesting its forbidden sympathy, awakening only terror and horrible repugnance."

There are times when I feel like a ghost.

I don't entirely know, but a little part somewhere in my soul, or mind, pokes me with that dreaded sense of invisibility. Or maybe it is an embedded part of reality, maybe I really am invisible; invisible to someone.

How do I know if I can be seen? What if all I'm hearing, hearing you speak, seeing you speak, what if that's all just a mere art of illusion, what if all I'm seeing is actually what I'm imagining, not really existing at all?

What if I wish to be seen. What if you can't see me? What if I'm really a ghost, an old memory, faded out of the material world, now only a lingering spirit, seeing only tantalizing memories, which are decepting mirages of the truth? What if the truth is really a bland cocktail of matters that I don't know of? What if those matters don't concern me at all? Am I really gone? Or am I still here, as tangible as you?

Or has tangibility died too?

Can you really see me? Do you even know who I am? Am I just a ghost?

Ghosts scare people. Do I scare you? Do you get provoked by my sudden interference, my sudden confessions, my unrealistic statements? Do I make you run away? Am I just a disappearing act, coming and going when I please, vanishing leaving you baffled, baffled and confused, confused, dazed and mystified?

Am I really there?

Can you really hear me? Can you read what I'm writing? Or is it all futile, am I imagining you replying? Do I really know what you're really saying? Or is it just a dream playing in my head?

Do you know what I feel? Do I feel at all? Is there really me? Or am I some disembodied spirit, just watching you, wishing, and waiting?