A Ghost In Our House Poem by Lacie Hebert

There's a ghost in our house tonight,
but it doesn't rattle chains or break the light.
It moves through rooms where we used to laugh,
tracing the lines of our broken past.

It sits where you used to sit so sure,
like love was something we could always restore.
But the silence grew heavier than our sound,
and now even memories don't stay around.

The kitchen still smells like arguments and wine,
like we were falling apart one fight at a time.
I swear I hear you in the hallway air,
but I turn around and nobody's there.

It knows your name, this hollow space,
knows every lie you tried to replace
with 'I'm sorry' whispered too late at night,
when pride and distance won every fight.

There's a ghost in our house, but it isn't you—
it's everything we couldn't hold onto.
It's the love we buried under pain and pride,
the version of us that slowly died.

And I don't scream when it passes through,
I just let it remind me of me and you.
Of what we were, and what we became,
of how even love can forget its name.

Now I walk these rooms like I've made peace,
with all the echoes that never release.
And I let the ghost have what it needs most—
because I no longer live with your ghost.