ghost/ 14 of 30/ 105

Do you remember the day you became a ghost?
When your elbows turned to dust, and your feet became wisps of air, when you slowly, steadily, faded away.
Do you remember that split second where the colours of the city faded away, when the bright lights, and noisy streets no longer held any appeal- your city, the one you had loved so much, became a ghost town.
And you were just another invisible inhabitant.
Do you remember the day you learned to stay quiet, a look from your father in a room full of strangers when you blurted out too much too soon, the slap that followed, the systemic silencing that it led to,
do you remember what you were like before?
Before becoming a ghost, you were, well, alive. Vibrant. Sharp. Before becoming a ghost, you spoke too much, and danced on every ray of sunlight that hit you. You used to gather up your courage and clutch it with beady eyed desperation, like you wouldn’t survive without it. And you were right.
When they took it away, when they broke you, broke you in the name of morality, in the name of sanctity and justice, your courage faded away and so did you, until you were just a ghost, just a wisp of what you were. What you could’ve been.
Do you remember the day you became a ghost?
It was the day you lost yourself.
The day I lost you.

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