When loving ghosts, one must make allowances, for their intangible nature prohibits touch, physical warmth, passion. They mire in sadness regardless of kind words, a warming sun, a lover’s wistful look. To struggle is in their make-up, their very essence. Like drifters on a highway, they patrol the ley lines you may not tread. Not yet, anyway. Not until the blue fades from your lips, too.
This insipid cold, if you will, does not make them cruel, nor inconsiderate just unable to yield to the pleasures of flesh and blood. Though they would if they could. They remember them, distant though they may be. They recall them, as the echoes of memories lost. Like violin strings plucked in a dream, they would hear this music called life once more.
So, how should one treat them? How should one appreciate these gentle spirits of the night? How does one love a ghost? Simple, my friend. Remember them. Remember them all. But most of all, and here I beg, remember me.
Richard is a writer and author of The Eternals Series published by Creativia. A former Authonomy.com gold medalist, part of HarperCollins, Richard has had many short stories and poetry published and always feels extremely privileged each time.
A prolific writer, a constant source of clearing his mind, Richard has created this website to share just some of the many poems and prose he has written that would otherwise have fallen by the wayside.
Reading and writing have always been Richard's main love along with the pursuit of keeping fit. Running, walking, and anything that provides a spectacular view always feature highly for him.
Running in the rain with his headphones on whilst dreaming up some future storyline is just about perfect. It would be nicer still if that run was in Switzerland or Norway, but we can't have everything.
Oh, and coffee, lots and lots of coffee.
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13 thoughts on “Three Paragraphs on the Art of Loving Ghosts”
I always marvel at your ability to express the intangible and lull us with your serene words. And then shock the shit out of your readers.
Aww I would always remember you. In fact if I don’t hear from you I come looking for you. 😀 Can you imagine if we were ghosts what fun we would have? I like that sometimes we feel their spirit around cheering us on such a sweet feeling 🙂 Happy Friday R.
The last breeze that passed and chill, It was not a ghost but the shadow of the death this time the shadow didn’t need any source of light to be seen. It was free from worldly affairs, it was free to tease and please.
I always marvel at your ability to express the intangible and lull us with your serene words. And then shock the shit out of your readers.
Can I put that last bit on my resume? 🤔😉
And thanks as always, Dana.
Aww I would always remember you. In fact if I don’t hear from you I come looking for you. 😀 Can you imagine if we were ghosts what fun we would have? I like that sometimes we feel their spirit around cheering us on such a sweet feeling 🙂 Happy Friday R.
And to you, Michelle. 😄
Lovely. Reminded me (in a distant way) of the book SUM, by David Eagleman.
I’m ashamed to say I don’t that. I’ll have to check it out. 👍
And whom it is may I ask, is writing on Richard Ankers blog? 😀
It’s my ghost writer. 👻
😱
Your words are truly ghostly, as if swiftly pouring out of the liminal space transitioning from material to spiritual.
Thank you, Raj. You put that better than I did. 🙂
These are realities…💕😁
The last breeze that passed and chill, It was not a ghost but the shadow of the death this time the shadow didn’t need any source of light to be seen. It was free from worldly affairs, it was free to tease and please.