I’m more and more haunted by hauntings. Less so when they’re from the past. More so by those that are from the future. Wishes, dreams, and visions, that I left on my desks, scribbled down (if at all) without so much as a form. Only some words for a place to be, well, to exist. I don’t know where to start has never been a good enough reaction to their heartbroken looks and whispers in broken voices. Write us a home, give us a room of our own, something. And so I start. A sentence here and there. A frame on which they can sit and stretch their bodies. Now I am the one with the heartbroken look on my face, one or two tears falling down my cheek. Whispering an apology that calms the Haunting of my soul.