The Ghosts I Still Talk To

(A Halloween reflection)

Halloween has always felt like more than costumes and candy to me. It’s the season when the air grows quieter, when the veil between then and now feels thin enough for memory to slip through. Maybe that’s why October feels personal. It holds a certain stillness, like it’s carrying all the things we once tried to forget. The kind of quiet that lets you hear the faint hum of what used to be - old laughter, long pauses, the whispers of people and places that shaped you.

I’ve learned that not all ghosts rattle chains. Some simply linger in the folds of time, sitting beside you when the night feels too still. Some are kind, some are heavy, but most just want to be remembered. I still talk to mine. Not in fear, but in tenderness. Because sometimes, the only way to move on is to learn how to live with what still stays.

🕯️ The Ghost of a Past Love

He visits quietly. In the way rain sounds against glass. In the spaces between familiar songs. In the echo of a name I no longer say out loud. There was a time his memory felt like a wound, open and endless, impossible to look at without pain. But now, he’s more like a photograph in an old box, untouched, but not unloved. There’s peace in remembering him now, the kind that comes after years of trying to rewrite the ending. I’ve stopped asking what could have been. Instead, I thank him for teaching me what love could feel like, even if it did not last. Not all ghosts haunt. Some just hum in the background, reminding you that you once had a heart brave enough to love.

🌫️ The Ghost of Who I Used to Be

She still visits too, the girl who thought being strong meant being silent. The one who apologized for needing rest, who mistook endurance for worth, who carried everything alone because she thought no one else could. Sometimes she appears when life feels uncertain, or when I start to shrink myself again. I see her reflection in mirrors, in quiet mornings when I catch myself whispering old fears. But I don’t run from her anymore. I sit beside her. I tell her she did her best. I tell her she doesn’t have to be anyone’s pillar to deserve peace. She’s not a haunting. She’s a reminder that the person I was did not fail me; she built the ground I stand on.

🌘 The Ghost of Regret

Regret is the ghost that walks softly. It does not scream; it lingers in glances back, in late-night questions, in the pause before saying “I’m okay.” I still think about the choices I didn’t make, the paths I turned away from out of fear, duty, or timing. The people I couldn’t love longer. The dreams I buried because I thought survival came first. But I’ve learned that regret doesn’t have to be an enemy. It’s just a shadow of what mattered deeply. And sometimes, that’s all it is—proof that you cared enough to wonder what if. I don’t chase her away. I let her walk beside me. She’s quieter now, more lesson than loss.

🌑 The Ghost That Still Haunts

And then there’s the one that won’t let go. The ghost I can’t name without trembling. She doesn’t come often, but when she does, she brings the ache that healing can’t quite wash away, the one that still whispers “you could have done more.” I don’t know what to do with her yet. Some nights, I still cry when she visits. Other nights, I just let her sit beside me until the air softens again. Maybe she’s here to remind me that healing isn’t a straight line. That even peace has echoes. That we don’t have to bury every ache to call it healing. Some pain just becomes quieter company.

🌕 The Living and the Lingering

I still talk to my ghosts. Not out of longing, but out of love. Some are softer now. Some still hum with ache. And some simply exist like chapters I’ve stopped rereading but could never tear out. Maybe this is what it means to live beneath the mess after so many misses - to be haunted not by fear, but by the beauty of having felt deeply, even when it hurt. October always carries a quiet ending, the kind that feels like both farewell and beginning. Somewhere between the falling leaves and the cooling air, I realize how much lighter the ghosts have become.

Because the truth is, I’m not trying to forget anymore. I’m learning to live with what stays. And maybe that’s its own kind of peace. And perhaps that’s what Halloween reminds me of too, how even the carved-out parts of us can hold light. How we take what once scared us, hollow it gently, and let something warm flicker inside. - MESSY E.

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