You want to know the first time I saw one. Where I was, and if I was afraid. Did I believe my eyes? Because the other night when I saw you again, I knew it wasn’t just the summer heat, the mist rising after a sudden rain. It’s true what they say. Once you’ve seen a ghost, the seeing goes on and on.You develop an eye for it. And they keep coming back, connecting, maybe imagining you were the woman they met way back when. Maybe they think you remember them, too. Or that you’re the ghost, not them. Maybe they want you to finish that sentence, the one you started when you were going to tell what you never told a soul. Even if it’s been years since they touched you, years since the words began to form on your tongue.