These girls are here to be seen,

but not by someone they can't see.

So guilt keeps me from lingering.

I may be dead,

but I'm still Catholic.

I head for the boardwalk

to find someone

who can speak my words to Mickey.

I can't use Aura

or my little brother, Dylan,

or anyone else I care about.

Only a stranger

won't judge

me

or Mickey

for letting this keep us apart.

Only a stranger

can hold up the wall

we need between us.

Until we're ready to tear it down.

Occasionally,

sometimes

-okay, usually-

people ignore me.

Post-Shifters pretend they can't see

the ghosts around them.

It's cool, I get it.

They have lives that can't stop

every time a ghost needs help.

(And we all need help.)

They have lives.

But after 233 days of death,

I can tell the difference

between being ignored