Work Text:
There’s a ghost amongst the photographs, a lost presence, a shadow that film failed to recognize; empty hopes sculpting a face no one can remember within the confines of the mind’s eye. With a salesman’s smile, you pretend the ghost is waiting for you at his grave, like time and time again, holding his hand out to you; and without hesitance, you grasp it, for adventure and treasure beyond horizon lines. Pretend you're not in tears when you wake up alive and the ghost is still there, in the photographs, with twin faces beaming.