Ghost In The Furniture

Some people dream of adventure.

I dream of a home.

Not a house,
but a place where nobody is keeping score.

A place where mistakes are allowed to be mistakes.
Where grief can take off its coat.
Where love does not have to be earned.

Until then,
I write.

I write about rain,
because it knows how to stay without asking questions.

I write about ghosts,
because they never really leave.

I write about ordinary things-
ice cream,
empty chairs,
cold mornings-

because those are the places our hearts hide.

This book is for anyone
who spent so long surviving
that peace began to feel impossible.

And for the quiet people
who keep hoping for it anyway.