Written by Lilith Raymour
She walked through her past life, a ghost trying to correct what had been, correct all she had hoped never to become. She tried to talk to her past self, but her past self would not listen. Not unexpected, listening had never been her forte’. Tried to change her former self, but change came too hard for someone who had always felt they knew the way. Besides, what was already done, could not be changed.
At the end of her life pain, the loneliness, was the only carcass left, then that was gone, except her body, on the floor, and her spirit wandering through the rooms of her former life. Each room represented a hopeful beginning turned dead end. Each flight of stairs an exhausting climb leading to that dead end, or a rapid fall to another broken heart, shattered dream.
She thought she knew just the way to go. Hard headedness had taken her down the hardest path of all, something she’d never admit to herself. That is why she haunted herself, still trying to pull roses out of a broken life.
So much love thrown away for momentary convenience. So much useless cynicism in response to honest attempts to help. Sex that, no matter how pleasurable at the time, was in the long run just a reminder of momentary, meaningless gain for long time loss, and, loneliness again.
No wonder she haunted the living.
Her life had been such a waste: she had never actually live.
And now, never will.
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