I saw you today. I caught a glimpse of you under the skin of who you are today. For just a moment I touched, brushed, you and jumped back, unsure.
But yes, it was you. You felt the way the air smells after a storm: the way the memory of the rain stains the air after it’s gone, leaving nothing but the ghost of its impact.
You are your ghost. You are the memory of you. I miss you.