My ghost is thick and I love her anyway

I love this ghost and her thick spectral presentation on this plane of existence.

When I was a teenager, my friends would tease me for loving ghosts on the thicker side (You know, the kind that are a little hard to see through. They almost seem more like cheesecloth than a soft gossamer. You know what I’m talking about.) I always liked those thick ghosts that really make their presence known. Those were the ghosts for me. Ghosts that the average (basic) bro would refer to as “there’s nothing there, Kevin” or even “Kevin, there’s no one else in the room with us right now” or even “You’re really freaking us out, Kevin, stop it.”

I started educating myself on ghosts and started noticing that the media marginalizes ghosts by portraying a very narrow and specific standard of ghost beauty (a sheet with holes in it; a man carrying heavy chains and warning of other ghosts who are about to visit; a friendly boy). And I can tell lots of men have bought into this standard because they say stuff like “Kevin, what are you talking about?” or “Kevin, stop you’re being really weird.” Stuff like that.

For me, there’s nothing better than the ghost in my life. She’s thick enough that I can only kinda see through her if the light is right, and she flies through walls while waiting for her husband to come back from a whaling trip.

Ghosts, don’t ever fool yourself by thinking you have to fit a certain mold to be loved and appreciated. There is a guy out there who is going to celebrate you for exactly who you are and your ability to scream late into the night about your lost Isaiah and about how the baby has cholera. I love my Adeline.

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