Used to – A Poem

I got used to the way
The wind in the chimneys
Sounded like ghosts.
You get used to all the things
That scare you
Disappoint you
Hurt you
When they’ve happened
So many times
Yet got no further than
The fright
The disappointment
The pain.

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Can Ghosts Die?

There are some places I’ll never go back to. Not because they meant nothing to me, or because they are not worthy of my revisit, but because they meant too much. Because they hold memories of a person who has left my body. A me who is no longer. A me who helped build the…

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