I see too many ghosts
They are haunting the ink splatters of your notes,
they rattle the binds of exchanged jewlery, broken necklaces and their rusted chains.
I have books with faded fingerprints and carefully folded dog ears.
I have been told there’s nothing more difficult than mourning those who are still amongst the living, their ghosts live in the spaces of our drawers, carefully tucked away to forget.
But they’ll creep on you on when you least expect it, like a carefully crafted “boo“ on their part.
I hold too much sentimental value for past lovers and once upon a time friends who dried away my tears,
I let a graveyard build of inanimate objects telling me stories of far away memories,
but the great thing is a ghost is only scary until you get used to it.