I have been wandering around this empty place for a long time, so long I have forgotten what the outside looks like. What it’s like to touch solid earth and feel the warmth of sun on my skin. And yet, I still walk forward every single day with no destination in mind. I wander through halls that stretch endlessly ahead, walls so tall that it seems impossible enough to hold me with a strong grip. And now, this house is always silent. No sound of life ever makes its way into this vast room. There are never any visitors, because this building has already seen many people come and go. It has also seen some leave again, but not all of them were as good as the ones who walked away from here.
The ghosts of those gone before are always haunting this home even when they no longer inhabit these rooms. I know this very well. I have lived here. Atching all of the things that were brought here over time fade away. I know how the past lives out their own stories in our world, but I don’t wish the same fate upon myself. For once, I have decided to live my life by myself, instead of taking someone else into my heart. Even if this place does hold memories worth keeping… there is something about the silence that feels lonely. A loneliness not only inside this house itself, but all around. The feeling is almost crippling, and it eats away at my soul whenever I am alone for too long. So, I find myself making frequent trips back here. Even if it takes more than a month or two to get back here each time.
The first few times I was hesitant to come back here. Not because it was scary or sad or even strange, but simply because I felt that the other ghosts would be watching me. But after several days spent sitting by myself, I had grown used to hearing nothing except for my own breathing. I began to think I could hear my own non-existent heartbeat...

© Loaana