“This, no ballad of innocence” (Dorothy Parker)

Pictures pass me in long review,–
Marching columns of dead events.
I was tender, and, often, true;
Ever a prey to coincidence.
Always knew I the consequence;
Always saw what the end would be.
We’re as Nature has made us — hence
I loved them until they loved me.

I don’t think I am ever ready to talk to an old friend, especially one I had feelings for back in the day. Not that I’m afraid those feelings will come rushing back because we’re two different people now. No, it’s not that at all. I call them Ghosts. Each one comes back to me in my time of change as if broken memories reflected on the glass.

Ghost one came in the form of an exgirlfriend friend of mine who I had contact with, but until most recently decided to apologize to me and a friend of mine for her behavior. Ghost two came in the form of Alice. Ghost three has come in the form of my old friend. She, however, is the missing link ghost. These three people have one thing in common. They are all the motivations that helped me around a corner of my life. From the self-destructive me to the center of my abuse to the person who first showed me pain and heartbreak. Each of them made me want to better myself.

And each of them I loved. And each one I took advantage of.


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