She observed that the house probably had ghosts and asked me if I was afraid of them. This had not occurred to me, but since she had mentioned it I responded that I was not afraid of any ghosts that may haunt my home. I explained that I was happy here and that most likely the ghosts regard me with affection. Since then I have thought more carefully about this. I believe that the ghosts make no attempt to frighten me because they sense our genuine kinship. After all, I am also in the house alone. I also move from room to room silently. I also occasionally wander around at night. I am really not so different from them. No more than a small accident of time separates us. Indeed, returning to my sensible self, it seems to me that haunting is actually something that living people do. In imagining that I am alive I reproduce the imaginary conditions of death. I am my own ghost. Early this evening, I planted five more plants in the garden.
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