The Ghost with a Moustache

I was little when I found myself speaking of me to me. We, I... used to chat in silence, we, I used to ask him for impossible answers. Impossible not just for the simple fact of being hard to think about, but just for the absolute reality of not being real yet.
Based in history, I compared my world to the world I got to know but I forgot. Researching on those written lines, those wich have been blured by the water or the fire, or the sand or the filthy red boots. I felt the embrace of the red words for a second....I was sleeping...but I woke up and started to run.
I hate some kind of red colors....cause some reds are seeking for blood to keep its color.
When I stopped running...I saw his shadow reflected on the image in the mirror. The image of the ghost with a moustache, dressed in black and gray. How come?...He was supposed to run away!!! Soon I realize he wont cause he's the same image reflected.