The truth is, I am possessed by ghosts.

I pretend my heart needs dusting,
and shut all the doors and windows.
Then I confess that it feels abandoned,
as if it has always been home to only one person.

Sometimes my memories pour like rain,
passing through the permeable walls of my heart,
drenching me in misery the way only cold can.
But if I bow my head and focus on my shoes,
I shiver less; I feel less.

I feel like my past is a void; looming.
It has swallowed parts of me
and fragmented me into mere nothing.
I feel like a weightless ghost residing
in a heavy, throbbing heart caged in a blue chest.

Amidst the struggle with my windows today,
I met you and my fingers stopped fiddling with the lock.
I saw through my own eyes, I forgot all about my shoes.
I felt a connection, and not for a mere heartbeat.

But how? I am possessed, I think.
By my ghosts.


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