I'm deliberating keeping a mental diary because no offence, you're not much fun to talk to. All you do is sit in the dark in your room, muttering to yourself. It's like some tragic horror story. Like Sixth Sense. I haven't even seen that film so I can't exactly say if it's a horror or not...
I wonder how ghosts like me move on? How do we get to Heaven? Do you fancy helping me out here?
I hate to admit it, but it's not exactly the most comforting thing ever. I'm just a voice in your head because you refuse to open your eyes. You refuse to look at me. You refuse to believe you have some special power that allows you to communicate with the dead. It's happened to you before hasn't it? You've helped them move on. You're like the Ghost Whisperer or something. I know what I'll call you. Melinda Gordon. That's the girl who helps the ghosts isn't it?
Don't tell me to go away please. I don't exactly like this either. I'm just babbling because I have nothing better to say. Why won't you look at me?
For a best friend, you suck.
I suppose that isn't fair actually. It must be hard on you. Some girl you don't know is trying to communicate with you from beyond the grave.
That must be tough...
You know what else is tough?
Being a ghost.