A head full of ghosts hums louder at dusk

A woman standing before a one‑way mirror at night, pressing her palms to the glass. Her reflection is clear and illuminated by cool blue light from digital screens beyond the glass. Behind the mirror, blurred ghostly figures and glowing social media icons appear faintly, suggesting distant connections and hidden identities. The composition contrasts the woman’s warm, natural light with the cold digital glow, evoking themes of memory, disconnection, and longing.

A head full of ghosts hums louder at dusk

All day I carry them—the men I knew, or thought I did. Some have slipped out of orbit, their voices stretched thin. Others still walk the world, glimpsed in passing like silhouettes crossing lit windows. I could pass them on Bold Street and not know. I could know and still not reach.

They follow me online, though not as themselves. New names, new masks. It’s like standing before a one‑way mirror: they see me—older, altered, still moving—but when I press my palms to the glass, it’s only my own face staring back. Tonight I imagine knocking. I imagine saying, Tell me who you are now. Let me meet you again.

A woman resting her head against a man’s shoulder beside a small fire. Her eyes are closed, and her hand presses gently to his chest. Behind them, faint ghostly hands reach toward her, and a blurred figure fades into the cool, misty background. The fire glows softly, casting warm orange light that contrasts with the blue haze, evoking memory, loss, and the fragile longing for connection.
Ghosts

But the real ghosts aren’t behind glass.

They don’t scroll past on screens. They aren’t living in another city, waiting for chance collisions at cafés or crossings. They’re gone in the oldest sense—lifted clean off the map. What’s left is a thin archive of memory, flickering and unreliable.

And in that flicker, I hesitate.

How do you move forward when your body remembers someone who no longer exists? How do you let new hands learn you without feeling the shape of the old? Closeness feels necessary and impossible at once, like trying to warm yourself at a fire that won’t catch.

Yet standing still has its own cost.

If I refuse to step into touch, into risk, into the unfinished present, then I stay here—suspended, listening to echoes.

A head full of ghosts, and no room left for the living.

Further Reading & Reflection

Books

Cover of A Grief Observed by C. S. Lewis, Readers’ Edition, featuring three red birds perched on a branch against a cream background.
A Grief Observed
C. S. Lewis
Cover of The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion, featuring orange diagonal title text on a purple background.
The Year of Magical Thinking
Joan Didion
Cover of Writing Genre Flash Fiction the Minimalist Way by Michael A. Kechula, showing a burning sheet of paper inside a typewriter against a dark background.
Writing Genre Flash Fiction
Michael A. Kechula

Journaling & writing tools

Bright yellow Yolk Notebook standing upright with a yellow Papersmiths pencil held across the front by an elastic band, next to a glass vase with a single orange‑yellow tulip.
Yolk Notebook
Blue Pocket Notebook with a grey elastic pen holder strap and a blue pen secured in the loop, featuring a small black Papersmiths tag.
Blue Pocket Notebook
Papersmiths
Turquoise Primo Pen with a hexagonal body, metallic clip and tip, and ‘Papersmiths’ printed near the top
Primo Pen
Papersmiths

This article contains affiliate links, which means I may earn a small commission if you click through and make a purchase — at no extra cost to you.

Leave a Reply

Discover more from alisonlittleblog

Subscribe now to keep reading and get access to the full archive.

Continue reading

Discover more from alisonlittle.blog

Subscribe now to keep reading and get access to the full archive.

Continue reading