#justaghost

I still remember running from room to room. Four years of frantically closing windows, trying to escape the fumes, trying to stop them from coming in. The coughing, my chest in pain, the lack of air, and the desperation. The feeling of hopelessness knowing I could never leave.

The air was always so thick, the mold tearing through my belongings, taking the little things I had left. But it wanted more; it wanted my body and thrived on everything that made me happy. I lost my health, my hobbies, my clothes, and my peace. That moldy, fucking house.

That moldy, fucking house where the trucks couldn't stop blasting their horns at any moment of the day. No naps were taken peacefully; loud truck noises competed with the neighbors' music to see who could be the most obnoxious. The smell of piss and shit creeping from the neighbors' dogs, the rivers of ammonia and animal waste going down the stairs at 3 in the afternoon, sometimes at 5, and multiple times a day at 10 PM. The running to close the windows. That fucking running.