I think it all comes down to ghosts. 

Not the rattling-chains-scream-in-the-wind ghosts, 

Not even the ghosts that move your stuff around just because they can. 

No, I think the ghosts that really get to us 

Are the ones smiling at you from an empty seat when you sit down on the train, that seat they hated so much. 

The ghosts that pull a string of lyrics from your heart and twist them into a knife sharper than a winter breeze. 

The ghosts you cry with on an April morning and then never see again. 

The ghosts that tie knots so fast you never even learned how to tie them, just how to pull them apart. 

The ghosts that leave you alone to watch them tear paint from walls with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen. 

The ghosts you’ve never actually seen, but they’re the only ones you know are really there. 

I’m not sure those ghosts really like me all that much.