Old, Eerie Souls

Brimming with stories
If you look carefully, you can see forms, like wisps of smoke trying to enter the house like humans do.
But they can’t.
They can’t open a door.
They cannot be given warm hugs and invited home.
They just pass through the walls.
They’ve no bodies
To hug
To be hugged.
They’re just forms.
Mere wisps of smoke
Made of memories,
Your longing for them gives them life.
And they’ll live until forgotten
They’ll try to become human
Until they accept that they can’t.

And sometimes,
Just sometimes,
You’ll see them.
At 3AM.
A slight movement in the curtains
A shadow in the corner of your eyes
You’ll hear them,
The sudden, soft ticking sound,
That woke you up while you were alone,
The odd, stray sound coming from near you,
When the world is asleep
And you’re the only one awake.

It’s them.
Trying to talk,
Hoping you’ll hear them.

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