Surrounded by Ghosts

 

I’m surrounded by ghosts, of what used to be: specters, of other realities. And all these people, they swirl around me.

And their faces, and their souls; their passing changes me. They move me. They touch me.                       Their spirits stir me.

And sometimes, in their passing, they take a part of me. But they leave, a part of themselves. And I wonder, to whom else, I’m passing them on to.

It’s not a bad thing, to carry these people. It’s not a dreadful thing, to feel their pain. But it’s a hard thing; sometimes a burden to explain

 

 

                                                                                              

 

 

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