“I found myself writing songs that would never see the light of the day. Songs about ghosts and memories of the past. Songs that would probably not mean anything to anybody the way they do to me. For all the heartache that I had known and endured, it’s funny to think how these ghosts are the ones that get to be my muse instead of the several other things that I would much rather write about.
Then again, when you write about the ghosts of your past, the muse isn’t really them, is it? Because you know that writing it all down is the way you choose to cope with what they’ve left you with. Writing it all down is how you try to let go of whatever has latched on to you. After all, when you dedicate a chunk of your own soul to another, you take things away as well. It always goes both ways, even if it isn’t the same way for both sides.
It’s strange how we want nothing to do with these ghosts and yet, they continue to haunt us until we write just a little more about them. I wonder if anybody in the world has ever successfully managed to let go of their ghosts; do they not wonder about all the ‘what if’s and ‘what could’ve been’s? Or do they just do a very good job of hiding the fact that they’re still being haunted by these ghosts who never quite vanished from their lives?
Must be nice knowing that your mind won’t wander off to things that are nowhere even close to possibilities now, I guess.
I wonder if anybody else ever regrets writing about their ghosts. I wonder if people have regrets making their ghosts, their muses. I often think about some of my greatest works and I silently thank the ghosts from my past because, hey, at least something good came of it. Other times, I regret ever bringing those songs to life because maybe they didn’t deserve a piece of my soul like that; maybe we don’t get to decide who gets a part of us because we don’t realize the parts of us that people take away.
And maybe, these ghosts will never let go of us unless we were to somehow lose our memories to a tragedy. And maybe we’ll keep finding ourselves walking back to the graves of these memories and allow ourselves to mourn their deaths if that is what is going to help us heal. Because wounds may heal, but they still leave scars as reminders of them.
It’s beautiful. It’s morbid. It’s heartbreaking. It’s devastating.
But, tell me honestly, what isn’t?”
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