Ghost A dark jungle, looking like a dark jungle, is where I am never quite myself. I don't want to trip over its silence. I don’t want a life apart from the pain I conceal from portions of myself, from your voice crying to someone else come play in the rain, love . This is not the same summer rain. Our first season of separation I counted dead roses in the back yard. I didn't write our names on the mailbox. You couldn't listen to my dreams. I couldn't question yours. The scars are there. I don’t know how many years I spent trying to forget, afraid of how many years I spend trying to remember.