'We Are But Ghosts' by Al Davidson

We are but ghosts, after all.  Life, as all things, traipses onward with the pull of time.  The ghosts of our past collide with the dreams of our futures.  Our bodies are houses filled with skeletons both literal and figurative.  They creak with age and decay against our pleading to slow down.  They carry our secrets to graves with slow movements.

Our memories are the residual haunts that roam the hallways of our minds.  Important memories that draw us back to details, places and faces, and moments we are desperate to immortalize in the annals of time.

But, like all structures, they fall.  Our doors become boarded up and the laughter and light must leave.  The details fade, the foundation accumulates dust, until all that’s left is the land we lay on.  The upkeep of living is costly, but life itself is worth living.  So, let us haunt this earth while we can.  We are but ghosts, after all.