How curious to think of such things... There is this quiet oddness I've carried for years: knocking twice on wood before stepping into abandoned places. It's not because I truly believe in ghosts, though the air in those spaces sometimes hums with something just out of reach... It's more like a small ceremony, a gesture of respect whispered into the silence. This habit started almost unconsciously, like a breath held too long. Each knock is a pause, a soft question to the empty walls: "May I enter without disturbing what lingers here?" Sometimes, it feels like the old stones lean in closer to listen, and I feel less alone. I know it might seem strange to outsiders, this quiet dialogue with emptiness; but for me, it's an anchor. A way to acknowledge the lives and stories folded into these forgotten places, to honor their presence even when no one else does. It's endearing, perhaps, because it is less about fear and more about connection. A fragile thread stretched between what was, what is, and what might still be. And in that small ritual, I find a way to belong, even if only for a moment, to the shadows and whispers that history leaves behind. Did I get the point of your question?