The Ghost That Composed Music

The Ghost That Composed Music

The piano waited,

its keys trembling quietly,

and I realized

a ghost pressed them with invisible fingers.

Notes curled into the air,

folding shadows into rhythm,

and the floor hummed

with vibrations I could feel.

Even the walls leaned in,

pressing their weight

against each chord,

folding centuries into sound.

I touched a key,

and it sang like a memory,

pressing light and darkness

into my chest.

The ghost laughed softly,

its melody curling around my spine,

and I understood

music could be haunted and alive.

I left the room,

but the chords lingered,

folded into veins

that remembered every note.