When I was little, I was taught to fear ghosts.

I was told that they were bad,
that they were the devils' work.

That they were unnatural, unhuman, and needed to be vanquished.

But I've grown to know the opposite.
The ghosts in my house are the only things keeping me from falling apart at the seams.
They keep me company, and whisper strings of hope in my ear.
I need these ghosts,
to live
and breathe
and survive.

One's name is Evelyn.
She creeps around,
she pulls the razor away,
dries my tears.

She hasn't told of how she lost her life,
but there's something in her eyes
that tells me she was the cause of her own destruction.

One's name is Patch.
Or so his nickname is.
I think I may be in love.
Is that possible?
Maybe one day, I'll join him.
Until then, I bid my time.