I saw the makings of a ghost
And perhaps what it meant
To fade. Among the living, they are all
Dying. Their days slipping into routine:
Urgency during most mornings
And the slowness evenings take
To fill the hunger lurking within.
The dark often cancels gray shades.
I heard them conversing with shadows,
Take their closest friends for strangers
And leave without a sound, untraced.
They insist on different visions
Existing only in memory
Studying their faces in the mirror
Gazing back now and then
Catching glimpses. The imprint
Of fingers, the strand of a hand.
Corin Arenas finished her AB Communication Arts and majored in Advertising. She is currently an online copywriter for a BPO in Makati, Philippines. She plans on taking her master's degree in creative writing this year, if destiny permits. Some of her old works and published articles can be read on her personal blog, http://willtowhat.blogspot.com.
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