Some ghosts don't haunt places, they haunt the people who loved them. And that's why you're still here. Waiting. Hurting.

<img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/1000099389.png"/> You ever wait for something that’s already gone? I don’t mean just missing someone. I mean waiting—the kind that anchors your chest and rots your ribs from the inside out. The kind where you sit in the same spot so long your bones forget how to be bones, and you forget how to be anything that isn’t waiting. I wait like it matters. Like maybe if I suffer loud enough in silence, the world will change its mind. Like maybe the past will feel sorry for me and crawl back, begging for another chance. But it won’t. And it never does. And it never did. I'm waiting for something that walked away a long time ago. Something that didn’t even glance back. Something that left without taking its ghost with it, so now I carry it—dragging behind me like chains made of every second I didn’t say what I should have, every look I misread, every moment I thought was real but was just me being stupid. Worse than that? I think maybe it was never mine. Not really. Maybe I only imagined it fit in my hands. I made a home in something that was just passing through, called it love, called it mine, called it everything, and built an altar around it. And now? Now I'm kneeling at something that never blessed me to begin with. I’m still there. In that place. In that exact hour. I haven’t left. I never left. Time moved on but I didn’t. Everyone else calls it the past—“let it go,” they say—but I still feel it breathing just behind me. Like if I turn fast enough, I’ll catch it. Like if I hold still long enough, it’ll come back. But it doesn’t. It won’t. I know that. But still—still—I wait. Because maybe the hurt is all I have left. Maybe if I stop waiting, it really is over. Maybe this ache, this hollow, this goddamn suffocating silence is the last piece of it I get to keep. So yeah. I wait. And it hurts like hell. But I don’t know who I’d be if it ever stopped. And I'll never know because I'm never going to stop waiting. Waiting like a fool. Waiting like maybe time will rewind if you stare hard enough at the door. Waiting like maybe if you hurt just right, the universe will feel bad and give it back. But nothing comes. Just the waiting. Always the waiting.

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