Samhain: The Ghost That Clings

Samhain: The Ghost That Clings

The fire flickers low,

and the smoke curls like memory.

I should be free now—

this is the season of release,

the night to lay the past to rest.

But I am neither what I was,

nor what I’m meant to become.

I reach back and find only shadows,

reach forward and grasp at smoke.

My past holds me like a lover

who won’t let go—

even though the warmth is gone,

just the weight of arms

that no longer know me.

I don’t know who I am

without what I’ve lost.

I don’t know who I am

in this hollow waiting.

I want to meet myself,

to feel something solid,

but when I search inside

there’s only the outline

of who I used to be,

and the faint, cruel promise

of someone I might never find.

I am a name without a face,

a heartbeat without a home.

The wind moves through me,

and I wonder if I am the ghost—

not haunted, but haunting,

clinging to a life

that doesn’t feel like mine,

aching for a self

that refuses to arrive.

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