A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

My pretty ghost, I wish I didn’t wonder
where you’d flown, but at least
it’s not for the usual reasons. 
Do you ever think about that story
we planned to write? I meant it
when I said I wanted to craft this
with you. My analytical mind
has run through many scenarios
(how could it not?) and I wish
you’d use the sending stone 
residing still within my pockets;
surely you can offer some explanation
even within the brevity of twenty-five words.
No need to spare my feelings - the truth
stings less than confusion.  Your silence
speaks volumes, in a language 
I still don’t comprehend, despite hearing
it spoken my entire life. If my wisdom 
was higher, I’d walk away, and if not
forget you entirely, at least bury you
in a box in the back of the closet 
in the attic of my memories.