They come like weather
Not announced
But arriving in the corners
In the hush between breaths
Ghosts are not only memory
They are the rooms I never finished
The doors I locked and kept locked
The names I stopped saying aloud
Sometimes they whisper like wind
Soft and familiar
Tracing the seams of old wounds
With fingers that remember how to hurt
Sometimes they stand at the foot of my Bed
Solid as accusation
Wearing the faces of people I used to be
Demanding rent for the space they still
Occupy
The therapist watches steady
A lantern held against the dark
As I learn to name each visitor
To say its shape
Its hour
Its hunger
Naming does not banish them
It gives them a place at the table
A chair with a rule
Speak once then listen
Some obey
Some do not
I build small rituals
A bowl for the echoes
A bell for the sudden storms
A window I open when the air grows Thick
The ghosts teach me what I feared to
Remember
How I survived
How I hid
What I loved and lost
They are not only thieves; they are Teachers
If I can stand long enough to learn
At times the house feels crowded
And I am tired of hospitality
So I choose
Keep the lessons
Lock the doors that harm
Leave the rest to the slow work of Weathering
When the last echo softens
I do not pretend the past is gone
I set a place for it on the shelf
Visible
Contained
And I turn toward the room I am making Now