Spectral Tourism
I felt as if I’d come unmoored from reality, these quiet paths and dark woods so different from the bustling and meticulously-planned city streets upon which I lived my life.
I felt as if I’d come unmoored from reality, these quiet paths and dark woods so different from the bustling and meticulously-planned city streets upon which I lived my life.
Jane would be rolling her eyes with the rest of the podcast (g)hosts.
You should watch it. Right now. You don’t have to read any more of this post.
All the ghosts I had at the River Arts District White Duck Taco have been drowned.
They whispered, “Did you feel that too?”
I was haunted by the thought of a home that was all around me yet so distant from me.
I write about how much I miss a recently-defunct business because the Gathering, to myself and many, many people, was more than a place to get a good chai.
Those were the saddest things I could think of at that age: Ghosty was lonely. And without ice cream.
I repeated the words I’ve heard from my friends, family, and therapists, hoping that they’d pull me out of the dark corners of intrusive thoughts.
I can’t stand to think about it outside of my sketchbook and my Word document.