A ghost will move and twist and turn through people’s lives, unbeknownst to them. Leaving the littlest marks that can only be seen if you’re searching for them. Invisible to us, the only way they can survive is by praying and hoping for someone to come along and save them. They might not even know that they need someone to help get them out of their own cloud. 

When you’re a ghost, it’s like passing ships in the night. You don’t realize they were right in front of you until it’s too late. You can see everyone else, enjoying life, singing, and dancing, but they just pass right through you.

When you are a ghost pushing a book from a shelf could take hours, it can drain you, and it will seem to be the most difficult thing. So when someone comes up from behind and picks it off the shelf with ease, you crumble in defeat. For them it was like a feather just sitting lightly, swaying with the slightest breeze. For a ghost it will seem like a wall, an immovable wall you need to chip away at, giving it all your strength to push one brick away from the rest.

The nostalgia of what happened before hits you like a brick, it strikes unexpectedly, and when it does you go down hard. The memories and your reality say different things, your memories will show the good times, the laughter, the hugs, and the fun, but you know inside about the heartbreak, the tears, and the emptiness.

When a ghost is in your home, no one leaves it be, no one just lets it do the things it needs to go back to sleep. You chase them off and drive them out until they won’t come back. 

You can’t hear ghosts, you can’t hear what they are thinking or what they are saying, or how deep other’s words cut. You can’t hear their reasons or their pleas, and you can’t hear how bad they’ve broken.

Ghosts are all around us, I have been one. I used books, art, music, and other forms of creation to set myself free.

“I was never looking for her, ’til I found her … She’s the ghost of Chicago, she got lost somehow,”

(Ghost of Chicago, Noah Floersch)