Ghosts are real. I’ve lived with a few my entire life: the ghosts of people who I used to know. They visit me late night or I catch glimpses of them or feel shivers for no reason and I know something is there.
It’s as if I’m haunted by the past. The ghosts that are in my world aren’t even true versions of the people who have long since gone. They are eerily present yet wholey ethereal; they could be dispersed by a strong breeze or lost to a loud sound.
It’s as if they come to find me when I’m lonely and down, knowing that my discomfort is an entrance into their continued existence. All the power lays in my ability to direct my intention.
Ghosts that feed off the fear and lost moments of the past. Ones that come to me with reminders of how lovely some missed moments were. They remind me that now is a hard place to be and craving is an addiction.