Ghost Town
Wednesday, January 25th, 2012I keep catching myself thinking and saying the oddest things. Things you’re not “supposed” to own up to. Things you’re “supposed” to push down and ignore, pretend never happened, never existed. But, they persist…
We used to live in that building…
My ex wore a scarf just like that when we first met…
I had my picture taken once between these bookshelves on a summer afternoon…
I want to but can’t…that movie sing-a-long was “our thing” and now it’s “sacred”…
I walked down this street the night before I left for good, sobbing my eyes out the whole way…
This is the doorway through which we first walked together on our first date…
There are so many things I remember. Things that I miss. Things that I do not. Things that have left their mark. An imprint. On this city. On me.
Live in a place long enough and you’ll be bumping into ghosts at every turn; board the bus with them, grocery shop with them, get coffee with them. Order take out. Pick up the dry cleaning. Look at art. Pay bills. Ride bikes. Window shop. Return library books. Nod along to some band. Drink your drink. The whispers of a life lived with someone else, whispering to you each step along the way. Ghosts of loves past.
I remember…
I used to…
Once I…
That used to be…
I let myself be whispered to now. I no longer fight it as I once did during the break ups of my twenties. Now, I feel no stab of regret, remorse, sadness at the memory. Very well, come along then.
There is detachment, yes. Acknowledgement of the place and memory as one would note the color of wall paint. Matter of fact. That has happened and now this. More than that, there is respect for what was, for who that person was, for who I was.
I have loved, been loved. My heart doesn’t quicken to know it. My eyes remain dry. Dull acceptance. Things that were but are no longer. Places that hold memories but not pangs.
I am alone. And never much lonely.
Beautiful post, Nic.