I’m learning this lately: today as I walked to the train, fumbling through pockets for where I placed my ticket, my wallet and my keys, the things we can’t see whisper to us. 

It’s like the wishes we withhold within, waiting. How sometimes missing out on the smallest, smallest things we want for ourselves - those new shoes, that raise, the fancy TV you chance on the stall in the mall, the suit to wear to work, the hug from that friend when you’re confused, the attention of the adorable person who caught your eye for weeks - not having them can be a pain you don’t have words for.

They are small to the world’s vast problems. They remain small, yet ever so near the things that shed light. Things like hope. 

They leave shadows that loom large in your life’s list of ghosts that haunt.