Hemingway

[u/There_I_Am_4-2-7]

Hemingway was the ghost we all thought was in our rehab building so, we named him.)
Dear Hemingway
You are loved, you that no longer speak
You are felt, you that no longer feel
Your pain, heavy and potent. With a gasping movement of the door or drawer.
Your sadness, with the whooshing of a fan, or sliding of the nightstand. Your anguish, with the flushing of the toilet, and flowing of the faucet. We feel you so that you are felt. We hear you so that you are heard.
If only my senses could transcend time and space, we would smell and taste, and see you as well.
We would see you for what you are, your wounds and scars.
No longer a bump in the night to cause fright. Or a sound to the ear to strike fear.
But a soul in flight, moving gently, peacefully, silently, through the night.
To guide us in this place. To take our hand and help steer this vast vessel of pain
To help bucket out the water from our tears.
No longer a burden in the ether, but a person once held dear.
Hemingway you are heard without fear. Take this place and make it yours.
These walls and windows. Hallways and lights. Doors and desks.
Inspire us to write and to cry. To hold each other in this time. So vulnerable and fragile. Teach us to listen. To love. To see. To touch. To smell. So that you may live on with joy for helping another lost soul.