Seperate experiences of the same places inform one another and the seperations are dificult to distinguish; like slides or images printed on transperancies stacked on top of each other.
Memory hits in an instant. A flash of spring recollected in winter. A strike of emotion attached to loved ones now far away. These are the realest ghosts I've encountered. Spirits composed of recollection and fabrication.
I could find myself chasing these ghosts, trying to grab what I've lost. Trying to regain what I can only remember I remember. Then I snap back. I release my grip. I go on my way and the ghosts follow.