Home Spirit

The ghost of this place passes through doorways. Peering over empty walls and heavy boxes. Silently and sadly wishing us well.
A stagnant spirit lingers over hasty happenings and wishful thinking.

As light filters through, it breaths among the dust. A long wandering ghost.

There is corner where I discovered new music. Perhaps it listened with me. From door to door, held so many memories. Of conversations and realizations of myself. Perhaps it was walking with me.

The same light that filtered through each day, somehow came to mean something new with every new dawn. A new understanding. A new feeling. A new song. A new photo. A new poem.

Perhaps it passed through each meaning. Until it was full of the spirit of this place. Until it shared the same beauty in its eyes that I have for it.

And perhaps it will walk until the doorways are left unpassed. Gates locked. Until it sits where I once sat, to take in the view of what we made. To become the spirit of us.

Or perhaps it will empty out itself.

Until it is once again a shell.
For the next home.