Sometimes I ask myself if ghosts are real because I think the ghost of my grandmother is with me wherever I go.
It is there whenever I stain my clothes with chocolate and try to wash it off, and I see her trying to help me remove it. Just the way she did that one time during a family vacation.
It's there whenever I wear or see things that once belonged to her. And I remember how her outfit would never be complete without a slip-on wrist watch, something purple, and a long necklace.
I feel it whenever I fall asleep in the car and need something to lean my head on. And she would offer her shoulders even if I'm too tall to lean on it, just the way she used to when I was just a nine-year-old who was a tiny bit taller than her.
I feel it every time I use the blanket she gave me all those years ago, making me long for her arms to wrap me up in their warmth.
I see it in my mother's ears, my sister's nose, and in all of her pictures saved on my phone.
I see it in everyone else's grandmother and grandfather I meet on the street. And it makes me wish for more than just her ghost.
Because who I want to see, and feel, and be with isn't her ghost. I want her. And it hurts because I know what I'm asking for is too much.
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Happy birthday!
Happy birthday!
J<3
