Gone is Gone

Once when I was sitting alone in a half-lit room, my sister walked out of the closet. It was not a very big closet in a small house built 40 years after her death. I was not afraid. I was comforted. I wept as she sat beside me and put her hand on my shoulder. Then slowly, ever so slowly she faded away. Not a ghost, no visit from the other side, She had as much substance as any other thought. Gone is gone.