My Room Is Full of Ghosts

Not the kind that haunt you — the kind that hum softly in the background.

The ghost of my old laughter. The echo of a song I used to play on repeat. The scent of a perfume I wore when I thought I was someone else.

Every corner of my room reminds me who I’ve been.

Sometimes, I clean it out, thinking I can erase the past. But by night, it always drifts back in — gentle, familiar, forgiving.

Maybe ghosts don’t scare me because they’re mine.