The Ghost That Sat By My Bed Smiling

The Ghost That Sat By My Bed Smiling

She came without warning,

not through door, nor whispered hall,

but simply there,

as if she had always known the way back.

I woke to the quiet weight of her presence,

a stillness that did not belong to night,

and there she sat beside me,

hands folded, smiling, nothing had changed.

No fear touched me,

no cold dread crept beneath my skin,

for I knew that smile,

the soft kindness resting in her eyes.

My nana, gone these many years,

yet nearer now than breath,

watching me as she once did,

when storms lived only in childish dreams.

The room held its silence carefully,

not a creak dared break the moment,

and I could hear my own heart,

steady, calm, almost welcoming her.

She did not speak,

yet I heard her all the same,

in the gentle tilt of her head,

in the warmth that wrapped around me.

Time stretched thin,

like something fragile, ready to tear,

and I feared that if I blinked,

she would be taken again.

So I watched her,

and she watched me,

two worlds meeting without question,

without need for explanation.

When she rose,

it was slow, deliberate,

as if leaving mattered more than arriving,

as if goodbye still held its weight.

And then she was gone,

not fading, not vanishing,

just no longer there,

like a breath that had already been taken.

Morning came,

but it felt distant, unimportant,

for I had seen what waits beyond,

and it had smiled at me.

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