In Charleston, slavery lies thick like an August afternoon across the streets. You know this town, you have seen it before. When you think of it now, all you remember is how it was the beginning to the end of a great love. You know this is not the city's fault, but your heart has not forgiven. He leads you through cemeteries and speaks of boo hags, but the only thing that catches you are mosquitos and the great exhaustion. You wrap yourself in a robe and fall asleep like you didn't have an alarm set for before dawn.
Ghost is a relative term,
it's no more - and no less -
than what your mind makes it.
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