A ghost is not a sheet of cold air
not a footstep in the hall
It is a thought that learned the shape of yesterday
and refuses to leave the room
It lives in the replay
the moment pressed flat by memory
looped until it forgets it has ended
looped until the body believes it is still happening
These ghosts do not rattle chains
they repeat sentences
they ask the same questions
they knock from the inside of the mind
They are feelings that never finished speaking
grief that missed its exit
love that stayed after the house burned down
fear that memorized the floor plan of the past
A self becomes haunted
when attention moves backward
when breath is borrowed by what no longer breathes
when now is ignored like an unopened letter
The ghost has no power in the present
it survives only on recall
a pattern fed by belief
a phantom stitched together from remembering
To meet the moment
is to turn on the light
not to banish the ghost
but to see it clearly
And when seen
it thins
it softens
it remembers that it was never alive
What remains
is the quiet room of now
where nothing needs to repeat itself
to be real
Original poem by David Kausek 2026
