There comes a point in wandering haunted places when you stop asking, “What happened here?”—and start wondering, “What’s happening to me?” The air feels heavier, not because the room is cursed, but because something old and unspoken has followed you in. The third part of this collection lives in that space. Not just in forgotten corridors or whispering ruins—but in the echo between memory and presence. In the way certain places reflect things back at you that you didn’t know you were carrying.
By now, the fear has softened into fascination. The awe has grown teeth. These poems are quieter still, but they’re closer to the skin. They come from fortresses that mourn, cities that bleed beauty, and temples that feel like they never really closed their doors.
Some ghosts wear architecture. Others wear your name. These are the places that know the difference.
