The concrete was hard and bumpy below me. Cars raced past my pale thin figure as they ran by me, eager to take shelter in the warmth and comfort of their home, safe from the rainy world around them.

I looked up into the sky. Clear tears fell from the eyes of grey clouds above me. Whimpers of anguish boomed inside them, sending streaks of destructive light hurtling towards the world below them. My arms wrapped tightly around my knees, as I hugged my legs pressing them against my chest, seeking comfort from them. Water droplets were landing all around me, soaking the Earth with the precious memories they held. For each drop of rain that fell, it released an emotion, a part of each and every one of us that we have forgotten. We released them into the air, hoping they wouldn’t return. They collect in the clouds, accumulating into something more than when they started. But even the sky must purge its pain like we do.

My eyes met every drop that fell, I begged for their comfort. They each slid away from me, landing out of my reach, or passing right through me, as if I wasn’t even there. But the thing is, I’m not really there. I’m just a piece left behind of a life once lived. I don’t exist, but I’m oh so real. My mind raced with the memories spent playing in the mud. The excitement in every student’s face, in the realization they would be excused from P.E. That they would eat lunch in a warm indoor cafeteria, with children chatting loudly in glee. Rain boots squeaking, umbrellas opening, the sound of the soft pitter patter of the rain as it hits the roof of your classroom. There was nothing really special or exciting about rainy days, but everyone has a secret love and joy for the gloomy weather.

I wanted nothing more than to sit in front of a fireplace, sipping on freshly made hot chocolate, smothering myself in a thick wool blanket. The desire inside me caused my heart to ache, but there is no beating inside me, or a heart at all, but I feel it breaking. There is no beating heart inside me, or a heart at all, but I feel it breaking. There is no brain to hold my memories and emotions, but yet I still feel, and I have held on to every memory with care, even if they hurt. I have no lungs to breathe in the sweet air, and let out a sigh of relief, I am nothing.

How do you describe a ghost? What is a spirit? What are they made of? How do they function? If you take a glass of water, you turn half of it into ice, and let the rest evaporate, aren’t they both still water? One is cold, hard, a slave to the laws of nature. But the other is free, but can’t be seen or felt. It roams and lives on its own terms, but we can’t see it, in a way, it’s like they don’t even exist. You are free, nothing can control you, tell you how to live and act, but no one knows you’re there. What’s the point in being free if no one can see your joy? You are just a gas, you are very much real, but as far as everyone else is concerned, you are not even there.