Memory Cache: ghost child
sometimes i miss it—
waking up to see you standing there in my room,
surrounded by the darkness,
your hair golden-white,
snowflakes frozen on your eyelashes,
…smile frozen to your face,
a frosty heat permeating from your body…
like cold breath on a winter day.
sometimes i miss that girl…
the way she used to haunt me,
lure me back to whence i came…
but most of the time,
(no point in lying)
i don’t.
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