Ghosts in Photograph

I can't let go.

If I say no,

I'm free to go.

But I'm still here.

Left me alone

With all the ghosts

In beauty cloaked.

I'm one myself.

Inside, we're waiting

For someone to appear.

To stop our fading

Before we disappear.

But they go right through me,

Cause they're just photographs.

But they seem so free

From all I struggle with.

One thing, another,

I'm gliding on the surface.

Their perfect summer,

Or this life that has no purpose?

I think I'll pass.

Just take my time

To pay for this world of perfect glass.

And if it shatters, I'll fall, can't climb,

And they will keep my time.

Could I let go?

I set it down.

I'm free to go.

I look around.

This world of ghosts

Searching for highs,

Erase the lows,

Keep their disguise.

Inside, they're waiting

For someone to appear

To stop their fading

Before they disappear.

They see the skies

Through a perfect filtered lens

That closes their eyes

As the glass starts to descend.

And when it shatters,

Will they feel regret,

That all that matters,

They let themselves forget.

They can let go.

Look up, see grey,

But colors grow.

There's still today.

This world of ghosts,

They come alive.

Take off their cloaks,

Start to revive.