Between Bruises & Blooms

There is an old belief

that every abandoned house
chooses one soul
to keep it company.

Not forever.

Just long enough
to remember
its name.

So I brought a candle.

Sat beneath
its crumbling walls.

Listened.

The forest whispered first.

Then the walls answered.

A woman laughed upstairs—

softly,

as though she’d forgotten
how laughter
was meant to sound.

The flame bent toward the door.

Every instinct
told me to leave.

Instead,

I thanked the house
for sharing its ghost.