A Strange Version of Me

I wrote this shortly before my Grandpa died. I rather liked it, so I wanted to share it with you all.



She is me, yet she is not.
She looks like me, but i cannot feel what she touches.
She is not here, but i feel her.

She is a strange version of me. She is translucent. She walks as though she is floating, and she is not quite comfortable with where she is at. She is the ghost of my living body.

I can picture her now, she's downstairs. She's touching the photographs sitting on all the shelves in my living rooms. She's touching ones of my father. My dead Father. My Aunt. My Dead Aunt. My Uncle. My Dead Uncle. The rest, she hardly notices.

She looks at them as though she's known them. She looks at them as if she is disappointed. She looks at them as though she talked to them just yesterday, and now they are gone without notice and she is not allowed to speak to any of them again. She looks at them as though they have vanished without comprahendable reason.

She's touching the ones of my grandpa now. He is still living, just barely. He'll be gone soon, I know this. That is the reason she is touching his pictures. She admires him. She admires his sweetness. She admires his honesty. She admires his sense of humor, his enjoyment in simple things, and his will to fight to keep on living.

I know she understands. She is the child within me. She searches to regain his youth for him. She would give up anything to let him live. He is given little recognition for all the wonderful things he has done. That is not how it is, though. She cannot make up for the time lost.

She's traveling upstairs now. As she gets closer, I begin to shake. I do not trust her so close to me. She is not something I welcomed. I didn't will her out of my body, she escaped. I'm not ready to let her back in yet. Without her, I am less afraid of where this is all going. I am only halfway here, and little touches me.

She is behind me now. She'd touching the leaves of the phony plant. She stares at the old forgotten clock as if she's on a schedule and she must check the time. She rummages through the boxes that never got unpacked. I can hear her troubled breathing as she struggled to lift the boxes off one another. I can here the contents collide as she shuffles through the abandoned items. I guess she couldn't find what she was looking for.

I can sense that she is behind me now. She is reading these very words over my shoulder. She's ready to be welcomed back into my body. She misses the sense of other emotions within her. She's scared, and she doesn't want to me to take all of this for granted. She's just trying to help, but i wish she would just disappear.