There are many different breeds of ghosts;

a feeling of touch,

presence when alone,

hearing voices

music,

footsteps

down the hall at night.

Many things can ghost us;

objects, photographs,

anything we think gives us agency

over the past,

when really it stays with us

on its own accord,

haunting in its own way.

Maybe ghosts are lonely;

maybe the souls of things hold on to us

as much as we cling to them.

The beloved friend, mother,

sister, 

son,

the photographs that miss being held,

looked at,

regarded lovingly.

The piano misses being played.