Wisp of smoke you linger

In the air you hang

 A faint touch of the tip of a finger

You leave the atmosphere feeling strange

A melancholy song

Your vocals play among these halls

Like a smothering winter that last yearlong

I hear your desperation softly call

Breath can sometimes be visual like cigarette smoke in the air

A slight tap on the wooden floors can slowly trick your ears

Call me a riddler but I cannot claim that to be fair

Because I do tell the truth of this fear

When you call my name behind me and I turn to see you not there