Time changed me then.

(Reformatory School).

Time changed me then I loved a ghost. A withered sanctified acquaintance. Of what she was made pure is yet a hindered by belief.

We knew nothing of vengeance. We were boys. 15 years of age. Partly playing the days away. Always a littered laugh at someone loosing a game. Little did we know of evils. All I dreams in me were of whom to tease next. Later however thoughtful yet pride. I could not believe what I had seen. A human introduction to damnation. The sight of her drove me insane. Priority to astound in beauty of an evil temptress. Fractions of fortunate invincible mounds glorified punctuality. Depict the invisible. Days we don’t know. Inflictions of rare natural tendencies towards time. Destined poverty opposed winter. My friend had yet to see what I had seen. For weather whom is chosen. In spite of factual freedom opposed by coincidence. I knew then time stood with wind in my banner. At night I awoke. I adored dark for beauty.

I dared not ask her if she would appear mine.

My childhood grew past me. I had forgotten about time. All I wanted was time to go by. So I chased ghosts for forgivance.

Then upon a mist I found nature. Her eyes wild as a tiger. I feared spirits to be within her. Never occurred factually what science had done for me. My slogan was hers as if; “no one is better than you and me.”

To love a ghost isn’t easily done. Sometimes her voice betrays. Before she talks at nights I hear her steps gently move into my room. We don’t share rooms at the reformatory. Yet I have a visitor every night. There she weeps for when she was lost. She is no child. Her voice mild whispering shiver. “Into the night.”

The dreams conveyed an instant delirious blank. I became silent. Always waiting for a word from her. Is she just my loneliness?

Let me tell you about the first time I heard her move into my room. The simple scare of apparition. Second choice decisions. Nowhere to hide now. The door to my room squeaks and opens. In her white gown she appears both young and old. Shifting face by the midnight pace of my heart. Her hair black then grey then black again. She is impossible to place of age and her chins expand and dissolve and tightens with every beat of my terrified heart. I wait for her to say something.

“Who be you, my dear, I have known you all my life.” Her voice crystal clear I feared her at first. Later her appearance became sincere. And she let me know she had known someone like me when she was alive.

She is not with me when I walk out of my room.

(Love story continues…)

(Later lunatic asylum…)