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Sometimes I sit alone in the dark with my eyes wide open and I try to will myself to see. I try to make my eyes see things in the shadows and shapes. I try to get past all of the things that I know are there to see what I don’t know is there. To see the lives that have passed in and out of these rooms. To feel the things that may have been said without words.
Sometimes I think I can. Sometimes I feel the wind in my hair a breeze running through the curtains when the windows are shut. Or I’ll hear music off in the distance laughter laced in between the notes. Other times I hear the screams. I feel the frantic whispers on the back of my neck and the panic flowing through the air.
Grasping at whatever I think I see or feel or hear. Holding tight to the lives I haven't lived but wish I could. To the conversations that have gone on before me. To all of the conversations that will gone on after me.