Remnants

Ghosts sleep in your bed at night,
and you wonder if they’re happier than you.
Do they dream of the past,
or are they simply stuck repeating it for infinity
(much like you seem to be)?

Do they dream of moving on, too?
Dream of white lights at the ends of tunnels?
Dream at all even?
Or are they happy to be where they are
(keeping you company late at night as whispers in the dark)?

So you decide to ask —
late one night, early one morn —
after another sleepless night of watching them sleep beside you,
wondering if they’re your ghosts or just there
(or if it really even matters, so long as you’re not alone).

And they tell you.
They say that they never dream.
Not anymore, they’re simply there.
Drawn to you like the moth to the flame
(because your demons make attractive playmates it seems).

Ghosts sleep in your bed at night,
and you know they’re happier than you,
know they’ve made friends with parts of you
that you’ve never even recognized and don’t even remember
(but it’s okay you were always afraid of being by yourself in the dark anyway).