Ghosts

My mind is haunted by ghosts.

They rise and vanish with the pulse of my weary heart,

flaring in an instant with their blazing eyes

and brilliant smiles.

They carry the echoes of what almost was

and what never could be.

They wait in the shadows,

lurking for the moment I falter—

the moment regret slips in.

When I pause, they gather.

Whispering their stories once more,

they beckon me to meet their gaze,

to hold their hands,to remember.

They speak of love and friendship,

of losses that once burned bright

and now exist only as remnants—

a past I am still stitching into the present.

They plead with me not to let go,

to carve them a place inside my life.

Anchored in my aching heart,

they haunt every corner with their whispers:

What if, what if, what if…

Until their longing seeps into my bones.

But that is the nature of ghosts.

They are softened memories of lives once cherished,

a quiet ache for what could never be.

I cradle them gently,but leave them where they belong—

in the depths of sorrow,

in the abyss from which they came.

Still, they linger.

They haunt with tender reminders

that I once dared to love boldly,

that I once held something solid and real.

They weep and sigh in my arms,

and I tell them it is alright—

but there is no other ending.

They are safe with me,

these ghosts.

And in their haunting,

they remind me what it means

to be alive—

to love fully,

to love deeply,

even when love becomes a ghost itself.