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"A Ghost of What Once Was"

A ghost of who we once were lingers in every place, person, and memory we leave behind.

By Kriti, BA Hons Philosophy , 2nd Year


Edited and Designed by Mannat , BA Hons Psychology , 2nd Year
Edited and Designed by Mannat , BA Hons Psychology , 2nd Year

We leave fragments of ourselves in every

place we visit.

They echo softly in abandoned pits,

or lie still on the ground, breathing in the

quiet.

Some linger in the ice cream shop at the

corner of our old neighborhood,

where, as children, we chased the bells

of summer

and seized the joy of a fleeting day.


In those days, we were everything,

youthful, overflowing with dreams,

certain the world was ours to chase.


Another remnant remains in the garden

of our house,

where laughter spilled unfiltered,

and grass stains clung to our clothes,

refusing to wash away the innocence of

giggles.


Every landscape cradles a memory of

these fleeting pieces.

Some vanish into the shadows of the

forest's darkest heart,

while others drift on the humming of the

ocean's lonely tides.

Some are erased by the careless sweep

of a branch,

while others stay tucked away in the

warmth.


The scattered imprints lie across the

world,

yet a larger piece of us rests like the

ocean,

drifting, buried deep,

surfacing only when our steps falter,

when we forget the way home.


Even now, the weight of those moments

endures.

The pieces we left behind are still held by

time,

cradled in silence,

the cadence of joy reverberating in

hollow spaces.


Each fragment is a ghost of who we

once were,

longing to belong again.

Yet they return, now and then,

like reminders of how good life once felt,

and how those memories continue to

shape who we are.


Some remain in places.

Some stay with people,

carried in their quiet keeping.


And maybe, someday,

our scattered pieces will come together

again.


Even if the rain dances upon the land,

or the moon blooms in laughter,

even when the sun shines its brightest,

every remnant will become solace in

endless hurdles.


To live each moment,

to admire our traces,

to meet new souls and bid farewells,

leaving yet another piece of our own

tucked into the corners of their hearts.


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Did You Know?

The word library comes from Latin liber – the inner bark of trees – and was first used in written form in the 14th century.

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