A short story A Ghostly Visit It was a cold night outside. The only thing moving was the wind. The wind had been screeching and howling all day. It seemed to be there for the night. I laid on the couch reading a book. My loving loyal dog laying beside me. He acted a bit nervous but I thought it was the weather. He was on high alert. He heard something and growled. I thought little of it. I thought it was probably patio furniture, being moved by these strong winds. I was getting ready for bed and I noticed the bracelet my husband bought me was out of place. I thought I must have gotten it out to wear and then changed my mind. So I put it back in its proper place. I laid down, got comfy in my bed. All the lights in the house off except one. I had left it on since my husband had been called away for a mission. I said it would not be turned off until he come home. Except that night, for no apparent reason it went out. I thought the light bulb must need replacing. I got up and went and checked it. But when I got to the switch it was in the off position. I was a little scared by that incident. I couldn’t really explain the reason the light would go off. I went back to bed trying to fall asleep. It was no easy task. I listened to music which always seemed to comfort me. I’m listening to a playlist my husband and I picked out together. Soon I dozed off. I reach over in my slumber and turn the music off. The next morning I was awakened by the phone. It wasn’t ringing. It wasn’t a sound of a text coming through. It was our playlist. How was that even possible? Shaken a little, I tried to focus on my day ahead. I got dressed and went to work. At work my manager could tell something was bothering me. She asked me if I was okay. I told her of the events happening the night before and the music when I woke up. She laughed, she casually said your imagination is running wild. It was Valentine’s Day so of course, people at work were getting flowers. My heart was warmed by the thought of someone loving so much they took the time to buy you flowers.

I wish I saw your more than sometimes I wish I met you more than maybe I wish I hugged you more than hopefully I wish you kissed me more than carelessly I wish I loved you more than longingly I wish that time would stop teasing And distance doubting— I wish my heart would stop haunting me.

A gentle guide for reflection, not critique. In Community Share, we treat feedback as a mirror—not a red pen. This community is built on care, curiosity, and creative courage, so here’s how we hold each other’s work with intention. --- 💛 Before Anything Else: Consent Matters Not everyone wants feedback every time they share. When you post your writing, please use one of these tags: • [Reflection Only] — no feedback, just space to be witnessed • [Gentle Feedback Welcome] — light reflections only • [Open to Feedback] — questions + deeper reflections allowed And when responding to someone else? Always check their tag first. Never assume. --- ✨ Our Community Feedback Principles 1. Celebrate the Spark Start by naming what moved you. What line echoed? What image stayed with you? Example: “This line felt like stepping into a storm—soft but electric.” 2. Ask, Don’t Assume We use questions instead of directives. Example: “I’m wondering what would happen if you let this image stand alone?” 3. Speak to Emotion, Not Technique Your job isn’t to “fix” a poem. It’s to reflect what it made you feel. 4. No Editing Someone’s Voice We’re not rewriting people’s work here. We’re witnessing it. 5. Response Over Revision Tell them what resonated, what you pictured, what stayed with you. --- 📝 How I Give Feedback (as your facilitator) If you request feedback directly, I’ll offer: • reflections on metaphor usage • emotional resonance • your strongest images • gentle questions to deepen the work No grammar critiques. No rewriting your poem. Just clarity, compassion, and craft awareness. You may also submit work privately for light feedback or for consideration in our Featured Poem of the Week. --- 🌿 This Community Is Built on Care You never need to share. You never need to edit. Being witnessed is enough. Your voice is welcome here—raw, tender, unpolished, powerful. If we treat each other’s writing with the same tenderness we wish for our own, this space will thrive.

The windows weren’t sealed quite right. The curtains would twist and tangle with each other at any blow of September wind. The floors were uneven and creaked phantom moans. Sunlight would bleed through the poorly sealed windows, casting shadows across the uneven floor, begging for brokenness to be whole.

This is a short piece I wrote about a week ago. I hope you like it ----- It was a hot day, I remembered. It was the kind of day where, in its memory, it never seems as unbearably awful as when it was experienced. The waters of the coast swelled and fell over each other. They sent up a spray that would caress your face. The sand had more of the consistency of mud, which I didn’t mind. Millie did, though. “Why must we come down here?” It would cake up on her legs, and if she sat on her beach towel, the sand would stick to it, too. It would take three washes just to get it off. She didn’t like that, which meant she rarely came with me. The times she did come were always my favorites. We would sit there, listening to the waves and watching the sun turn the horizon to the color of a citrus fruit. Millie did like that. “It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?” “It is.” Sometimes she would ask me when I was going to marry her. I told her I didn’t know. Then she would get really quiet. The day that I remember best was a Tuesday. The tide was in. It came up just a few inches short of where I was sitting. The horizon was that citrus-fruit-color, and I was lying out in the sand, counting the leaves of a palm frond that hung twenty feet above my head. I do not remember exactly how many, but I remember that it was close to a hundred. Millie was with me. She was standing idly in the water about waist-deep. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail. White clouds meandered above the beach like they had nothing to do. “When are you going to marry me?” she called from the water. I sat up, looking at her. She had a wonderful look in her eye that made me feel like all the beauty around me was void. I shrugged, smiling. “Why not today?” Millie lit up then. I don’t think I had ever seen a person so alive. It was frightening and perfect. Just then, the beach became, for an hour or so, a place like no other. It became a paradise.