One need not be a chamber to be haunted,
One need not be a house;
The brain has corridors surpassing
Ourself, behind ourself concealed,
Should startle most;
Assassin, hid in our apartment,
Be horror’s least.
– Emily Dickinson
What if one lived in someone’s head, with all the thoughts, memories, fears, prejudices and secrets for company.
The room would often be filled with music, tunes that change every minute, songs that tell stories, words that will never be forgotten.
Mundane thoughts would line the walls, as would faces that belong to another world.
Secrets would flit about trying to hide their true colours, while desperately hoping to be heard.
Doors to memories might stay locked or welcome one on a journey to a different time.
Fear would lurk in corners, shying away from admitting its presence.
Shadows of dark and dreary moods would create patterns on the walls.
Happiness would pay a fleeting visit though it may be the most honoured guest.
Passion would cloak itself as love and play its game of hide-and-seek.
Pain would ask not for sympathy but only for a silent companion.
Dreams would take shape before one’s eyes and tempt one to participate.
Life would lie exposed in all its sundry detail, .expecting only that it not be judged by those who haven’t lived it and asking only that the tenant in one’s head stay faithful till the end.