There’s a place in my heart filled with ghosts.
The souls I have encountered are abandoned memories—
parts of my soul that have bled and dried.
Some have stayed, others have left,Â
others I no longer speak to—
and yet, each and every one of these ghosts holds a piece of my heart.
A piece of me they carry, and I of them.
It’s comforting to know the memory of you doesn’t die—
but instead becomes prayers.
