She stood at the door leading into the building
As she did every week she hesitated
How many weeks had gone by just the same as this one?
She could no longer remember and she was so tired.
They had no idea that they were haunting themselves
Haunting the halls, the rooms and the chapels
Doing so with their stories, repeated again and again
Until they became remnants of themselves
Not moving forward and no longer able to gain from the past.
She had begun asking herself why she continued
At first it had seemed like she could make a difference
Save one or two by helping them let go of what tethered them
Their past experiences.
But recently it seemed that none were even aware of this self imposed stasis.
She was beginning to be afraid of being caught herself.
Of becoming one of them
Because even if she wasn’t repeating herself
She was repeatedly returning.
Haunting the halls, looking for one,
just one soul awake.
It was probably time to move on.