How do you tell someone about a ghost? The reincarnated soul would not even understand.

You are left haunted by the lingering memories. Alone. Stifled.


make (someone) unable to breathe properly; suffocate.

restrain (a reaction) or stop oneself acting on (an emotion)

They say that writing coloured with emotion can be some of your greatest works; because they are your realities on the paper. Even so, sometimes it’s hard to come to the self-realization that you even have pent-up emotions. What if even now, you are stifling yourself. You are absolutely stifled. You do not want to be overtaken and swept up in lost emotions.

Stiff. Stifled. Shuffled. Shit-dismayed.

You want to talk to someone, but it is physically impossible. They are a ghost. Not that they are in the spirit world, but that they no longer exist in the form you once knew.

The magic, the energy, of encounters past haunt you in the most peculiar moments.

One moment you are drinking tea, the next moment you are reminded of the way their body smelled in a warm car on a cold, winter night. Both sheltered in a little alcove away from the rain. Safe, drinking warm tea and watching traffic pass by.

Why? Why then. You were just trying to enjoy a cup of tea. Why would that memory decide to resurface?

How do you tell someone about a ghost? The reincarnated soul would not even understand.

You are left haunted by the lingering memories. Alone. Stifled.

So maybe you should write about it?


Do you even want to read what you’ve written? Do you want to lock it away in a mental vault instead?

Vaults get old; they rust.

They leak your treasures, one way or another.

So what to do, what to do.

Go to the sea, set it aside for me.

Find me a bottle, an old green glass bottle.

Send them away, raise them to the tide.

Look at your reflection in the side of the bottle.

See who you are now, let go who you were before.

If you can. If you can’t,

If you can’t;

 I know not what to tell you.

You’ll just be stifled.

As am I.

& What a lonely existence it shall be.

You came back at the worst possible time, I thought I was free.

Two Ghosts Haunting One Another.


“impossible to understand or interpret”

“impossible to understand or interpret”

I believe that it is inscrutable to have the audacity to think you can truly ever know how another human being is feeling.

We are non-verbal creatures by nature, not by habit. Unspoken gestures register with our brains faster than our vocal chords can form speech to question it.

English is such a dull, dead, emotionless language.

Mourning and Morning can be pronounced similar depending on your accent.

Monday and Mundane can sound similar.

The old languages, the languages of our non-English speaking ancestors had a strange power to them.

Have you ever listened to them? Heard the chimes of words long forgotten in your dreams? Have you ever hummed the melody to an unknown song?

Have you heard the power in modern versions of non-English languages today? East Asian languages for instance – oft times it is how you say the word that conveys its meaning.

Indigenous languages sound as if the beat of the earth is what fuels their linguistic thums.

But I digress. This was about understanding one another as humans, not a tangent on the lifelessness of the English language.

It was careless to inject my internalized archaic thoughts of our world order into a thinly veiled commentary on humanistic relationships.

To think anyone could understand where my headspace is today was indeed inscrutable.

But, I hope someone tried.

Someone did indeed try to understand.