The spirits that haunt us, they're not from other dimensions. Not the ones that haunt a majority of humanity, anyhow.
The residuals of our memories can do far more damage than any other-worldly being. Them leaving us with nothing but our own actions and no one else to blame.
It matters little whether we're running from or to these communions with our ghosts. They've passed on - grown to something unfamiliar or crumbled, succumbing to the impartial gravity of time.
What they've left behind exists only in how we viewed the events: the violent crack of a broken chair or the angle her head tilted back at when she laughed.
We seek and avoid every noun imaginable solely to re-affirm or retreat from feelings we would otherwise never try to acknowledge. Stamping our twisted constructs of a now-gone reality onto the pristine present; forever burdening it and ourselves.
It's natural and ok to hold onto something tightly, something that was only ever yours from the start. What's important is not to allow them to hold on back.
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