The ghosts that exert the most power in people__ lives-at least, the people I know__end to be of their own making, and consist of equal parts regret and old fears and just plain missing somebody.
How do you weigh a soul?Is it heavy with love or hate?Does it deny the things it's done?Does it even remember its own name?Does it miss those it has loved?Does it long for the life it's lost?How do you weigh a soul?After it has paid the highest cost,Does it lose the will to live?Without a physical shellDoes it sense without handsThat can touch and truly feelDoes it need sustenance to last?A cold drink or warm mealHow do you weigh a soul?Are souls even real?
Soul Eater
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How do you weigh a soul?Is it heavy with love or hate?Does it deny the things it's done?Does it even remember its own name?Does it miss those it has loved?Does it long for the life it's lost?How do you weigh a soul?After it has paid the highest cost,Does it lose the will to live?Without a physical shellDoes it sense without handsThat can touch and truly feelDoes it need sustenance to last?A cold drink or warm mealHow do you weigh a soul?Are souls even real?
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As she walked to the stairway, he pulled her back with a light tug on her shoulder. "They're responding to you now." Turning to face him, she said, "Responding to me? What did I say?" "The hallway was full of them. When you said we were going downstairs to eat, they started filing down the stairs." "They all took the stairs?" Eddie nodded, his shining, gifted eyes watching the ghostly procession. He said, "They don't want to be far from you, Jess. And I'm not entire sure it's well intentioned." "Come to use," the voices whispered.
Monsters, ghost and everything spiritual and non-spiritual exists. Because we create it, the way to stop it..., is just to stop thinking about it. - (This is how I solve the problem)
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Here, at the edges,Whispering to you,And we__e not alone; not aloneHere, in the dark.We are behind the door, in the corners,In the room where you__e just extinguished the light.We flicker in the shadow you cast on the wall.We are the prickle on the back of your neck.Curled, in words unspoken,We are the shiver on your uneasy flesh,The creep of the unknown on your skin.Can you feel us?Here, at the edges.From the Foreword of Cautionary Tales - by Emmanuelle de Maupassant