The Ghost I Became

Somewhere along the way

I became a ghost

in my own life.

Not gone—

just distant.

Watching days pass

through windows I never opened,

standing in rooms

without really being there.

People still say my name.

Still ask how I’m doing.

Still tell me stories

like I’m part of them.

And I answer.

I smile.

I nod.

I play my role.

But there are moments

when I feel transparent—

like everyone is talking

to the version of me

I used to be.

The one who laughed easier.

The one who believed

tomorrow would fix things.

I miss that person.

Not because they were happier.

Because they were present.

Because they knew

how to exist

without carrying the weight

of every mistake,

every loss,

every unfinished goodbye.

But ghosts

aren’t dead things.

They’re lingering things.

Things that haven’t found

their way home yet.

And maybe that’s me.

Not lost forever.

Not broken beyond repair.

Just wandering through

old memories

a little too long.

Trying to remember

how to become flesh and blood again.

Trying to remember

what it feels like

to truly be here.