one snowy saturday, she arrived in a ghost town. the ghost town didn't know that it was a ghost town, because it was only a ghost town to her. she understood that this was true, and that explaining it to other people would be a useless effort. so she wandered around with her ghosts, and let that be that.

occasionally, she forgot herself. she forgot who she was and where she was and why she was at all. in those moments, between the seems of her conscious thoughts, she was very, very alive. it was a curious thing to her, to notice her own life in the midst of these whispers and shadows. or maybe it should have been an obvious thing, a great contrast, as pale is on vibrant, as dark red gives white the ability to look the most like itself.

...if dreams are like movies, then memories are films about ghosts (counting crows).