My grandmother told me that I have the gift.
It skips a generation, you know.
Women are more likely to have it.
She told me when she was a child she saw the ghost of her grandmother standing in the mirror behind her.
When you died, I stood in front of the wardrobe where we used to play,
Hide and seek.
Seeking you out in the mirror, hoping you would reveal youself to me.
The tension cut the room with the knife, almost as if you were holding your breath in the shadows, hidden away.
I feel things too, you know.
See shadowed men in hallways slip by, people standing over me in bed. I hear sighing and whispers in the night time.
But I am still waiting for you to show me a sign.
Just let me see you one last time.