A place that has housed too many emotions has a particular vibe. You walk in and everything seems changed even if nothing appears changed. Like it recalls voices that once permeated it, the air settles heavier. Though you can't touch it or see it, you know there is a spirit within. Not exactly something terrifying; either not always holy either. Simply presence. Just remnants of times that would not go away.
Engaged with their own lives, blind to what remains, people walk in and out without sensing it. But some pause. Some people sense the change. Their chest tightens somewhat, their thoughts slow down, and something within them tells them there is more here than meets the eye. That is when you come to see that not every presence calls for a physical form.
The spirit in there is occasionally you. The version of you that loved without computing, believed more strongly, laughed louder. The version that stayed behind when you moved on physically but never really left. And quietly waiting, asking if you still recall who you used to be, you meet it again when you stand still long enough.