Or so I say.
I’m fine, and dandy, out having fun. Then it all grinds to a screeching halt.
I know I’ve been lying to myself. It’s easy; losing myself in moments of what feels like mad happiness. Each smile, each action, each feeling, is haunted by a ghost, a memory. It’s not to say that I am lying by saying I’m happy in those moments, yet I am aware I am turning my back to the abyss, an abyss I exiled my ghost to.
It clawed its way back though. Through hellfire, and from whichever sordid place ghosts are exorcised to, this one has crawled back, slowly but surely.