"all i'm saying is, i've known you for, what? a year? but i don't feel like i know anything about you," she said. "you keep everyone at arm's length and disappear like a ninja when i try to slip your rather formidable defenses. is that why they call you ghost? i mean, who are you?"
this made me think of a recent conversation with The Mez, and of course, i couldn't sleep. it seems i've spent most of my life trying to answer that question. not for anyone else, mind you, but for myself. i thought i knew for a while, but it turned out that was mostly a lie.
i think it doesn't matter who i am.
i think maybe it only matters who i am to you.
i can tell you i have met king arthur and albert einstein and jimi hendrix. i can tell you i have stood toe to toe with satan, been on my knees before Jesus, and cried out to God. i have been damned. i have been saved. i have seen hell and glimpsed the possibilities of heaven.
i can tell you i have run through the forests of r'lyeh ad escaped cthulhu's clutches. i have walked alone, run beside some, and carried others still.
i have discovered that the treasure is never what you'd expect.
but i can't tell you who i am to you.
ghost
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