I’m in love with ghosts.

Parts of this one. And parts of that. Love so intense it would make you lightheaded.

So it doesn’t feel like a loss to have someone flirt with you when that taught rope doesn’t tug.

Anytime I need passion, I dial up a memory. A photo. A flutter.

I know what it is. And anything short of that isn’t worth my time.

I saw the moon tonight as I drove home. In a flash I was flooded with truths. Gut instincts. Grounding. Something I don’t often feel. But I felt it in hugs and hugs and hugs and hugs.

How did this moon shine on me for decades without feeling this true? As true as it did tonight? Like a dagger. A saber. An arrow.

Short of that truth, everything else is a dalliance. A pastime. A forgettable age.