A Haunted Deja-Vu

When you leave a room forever (As a hotel room, or a waiting room in some foreign town) , Though you know you may never go there again, It pull's on your mind's substance, somehow Acquiring an existence larger than life, Imbuing your memory, with the breath of expectation: Uncomplete, never finished. You probe your mind afterwards, wondering What was left undone, unsaid, unthought, unaccomplished. You realize this place will stay with you indefinitely, An alternate stillborn, stubborn dimension Where some microcosmic quanta of self remains aware; Un-decomposing, not recoverable. We miss so much of the bigger picture, Is it surprising things might go on beneath the surface; Imagining we are within feet of others, who should have inhabited All our waking days; or near the grave of someone Hidden beneath our sight, who should have been Our nearest and dearest; but through chance or mundane error, Now they are become only thin, ghostly fingers Prickling at our brain-pans, like a haunted deja-vu.