It'll be nice to be human again after the past few years.
If I ever have been human. If I get to be human.

When you're a ghost, you still have to inhale and exhale like everyone else.
But it's not the same as breathing.

You still see the sunlight.
But every ray passes through you on it's way to something more existing.
You'll see me, now, my pale golden skin glistening with new sweat.

I can feel my nerves waking up.
I can feel the icky cold shivers oscillating as I shrug off my death.
I welcome the goosebumps.

Being granted life scares me sick. Sick to think of everything I could lose.
But it's worth it.
My blood is boiling at room temperature
and I'm trading in my invincibility
because being tough
isn't worth
the chill of heavy dirt, slimy skin, and the paper coffin I was buried in.