From One Ghost to Another

I know what it is
to live on the wrong side of memory.
To float through rooms
that once held your name like a prayer,
and now—
won’t even flinch.

I know the weight
of being the almost,
the echo,
the soft, unanswered knock
against a door that never opens.

Some of us aren’t mourned properly.
We’re set aside—
quietly.
Tucked between photo albums
and rewritten stories,
where we exist only
as the shadow someone learned to smile around.

But still, we linger.
Not out of vengeance,
but devotion.
Not because we weren’t loved,
but because we loved too much to leave completely.

And so we haunt—
not like thunder,
but like a breath.
In the flicker of a light.
In the song that skips on the saddest line.
In the way someone pauses
when they say
"I’m fine."

I feel you.
Not with hands,
but with ache.
I know the silence you speak in.
I know the language of being
too much for this world
and not enough for the next.

If you hear this—
in the stillest stillness,
in the space between pulses—
know this:

You are not forgotten.
You are not alone.

From one ghost
to another.

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