Don’t you just hate it?
Feeling lost in your own home.
How did these hallways bend
and how did these rooms switch?
If I could find that ghost to guide me, maybe it would be okay.
Perhaps even cosy.
Where are my photos
and where is the spot on the couch where she sat comfortably every evening?
Where will I bury her if not in that spot?
It sounds so bad, doesn’t it?
But it’s not, really.
Truly, they are just resting.
And they wouldn’t want all that light in their eyes anyway.
I’d tell her that if I could find her.
But my house is not my own anymore
and she does not walk these halls.