My ghosts

Sometimes I see dead people… that was the famous phrase of a movie, I think I remember it was The Sixth Sense, which I saw in the cinema, on the big screen and with an unusual silence, caused me to still have it in my mind today.
It is not because I also see dead people, at least not in those terms, but, to be honest, I see my ghosts.
Ghosts that were born in countless moments and that, lately, their presence appears to me almost daily.
In an old song, the ghost appears to me reminding me of the one I was kissing….
On another occasion it is a deja-vu that, at a certain moment looking nowhere, invades me the memory when she turned around and left, and I was there, looking at her, without seeing how she walked away without any more…..
The worst ones are the ones that invade me in those nights when alcohol has been present, maybe it is because, in those moments, I don’t have my walls high and firm in front of them?
The worst, did I say?
No, the worst are undoubtedly those that, before they are born, you already know that they will appear, that no matter how much you try to avoid them, you will always be fighting with them not to make an appearance.
Ghosts of doubt, those of not having made the right decision, ghosts that arise when you do not follow the path that some wise man or wise men think you should take, ghosts that are born from not daring, ghosts that arise when your heart commands more than your head, or when your head does not listen to your heart.
All these ghosts come to me on a daily basis lately.
I could argue that it is simply because of all this baggage that I carry, and which, I must admit, sometimes weighs me down, no matter how much I insist on trying to cope as before.
But each time one accumulates more and more moments, more right decisions, or maybe they were not, I do not know, but they cause the ghost of the memory to appear, they invite you to look inside that backpack that one carries on one’s back, maybe you are one of those who accumulate it in some dark room of your soul, but the case is the same, I stop and open the backpack, you open the door of that imagined warehouse and in both cases, the ghosts make an appearance.
I breathe hard…
I close my eyes…
I see them dancing around me, some of them smile at me, others, the serious gesture gives them away, but you know what?
They are my ghosts.
They are the consequence of everything that was born from the deepest part of me, from when I decided to try even when common sense, the experience of a thousand before me, told me that it would hurt me.
But I tried, I tried to be happy.
They are the proof, far beyond the scars I treasure on my skin, that I never stopped trying.
Maybe that new ghost that comes to me lately, one that I do not recognize, could be the ghost of the penultimate time, the one that tells me that tomorrow is another day, the one that tells me to keep trying, that between all of them and me, we form a good team.
Because my ghosts and I are one.
Because without them I will never understand who I really am.
For my ghost of memory, always present.
For the ghost of doubt, small and quarrelsome, but who always allows himself to win…
But above all, for my ghost of the penultimate time, because this one always tells me to keep on trying.
For my ghosts.

*** Translated with (free version) ***

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