The Ghost Girl Who Never Fully Left, by Milanka Sulejic

Poetry, chapbook, 48 pages, from Bottlecap Features.

A ghost girl wanders through coffee shops, grocery stores, parking lots at golden hour, and the strange emotional wilderness of modern life, collecting tiny observations the way other people collect receipts. In these funny, tender, and occasionally existential essays, she examines everything from fluorescent lighting sadness and emotionally haunted grocery stores to the performance of being a person in an age of phones, algorithms, and carefully curated identities. Part accidental anthropologist, part overcaffeinated observer, she notices what everyone else seems too distracted to see: the loneliness beneath charisma, the vulnerability hiding inside humor, and the quiet human longing tucked into everyday interactions.

Blending memoir, cultural commentary, and beautifully unnecessary overthinking, this collection explores what happens when someone stops treating their sensitivity like a problem and starts seeing it as a way of moving through the world. Full of ghostly observations, cherry-scented nostalgia, emotional support coffee, and deeply unofficial investigations into the human condition, these essays are for anyone who has ever felt slightly out of sync with modern life. Equal parts funny, heartfelt, and delightfully strange, this chapbook is a reminder that maybe you're not broken, maybe you're just paying attention.

Milanka Sulejic is a U.S. Navy veteran and first-generation American, born to Yugoslav immigrants, writing from the in-between spaces—where memory lingers longer than it should and identity doesn’t stay still. Her work moves through emotional scarcity, quiet horror, and the strange intimacy of modern life, tracing the small, almost invisible shifts that change a person over time.

She holds a B.A. in Professional Communication and Psychology from Alverno College, and her past work includes healthcare acting, teaching, and community organizing—roles that taught her how people perform, how they break, and how they are seen. Her writing has appeared in Written Tales, Sundial, Moonlit Path, and Phantom Flash Fiction, and often leans into sensory detail, emotional residue, and a kind of soft, persistent unease.

She lives in Wisconsin, where she writes poems, story-scent experiments, and surreal reflections on what it means to feel in a world that keeps trying to make you forget how.