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I am overwhelmed by my past. I surrender. Temporarily. I am defeated. All the people. All the places. All the things I have said and done unwind like apple peel. I am unpeeling all the layers and I feel so raw. I go back to the scene of the crimes but there’s no one there. Even the ghosts have gone. No one knows my name here anymore. No one cares. And no one knows where I hide.

I feel submerged by my past but I know I will resurface again because the law of nature requires it. I’m searching but my ghosts aren’t here. The old me isn’t hiding in the usual corners like she used to. She’s not there because the past isn’t there. It’s boarded up. When it’s gone it’s gone. Where have the ghosts gone? Why do I want them back? They are part of me. Like a s Russian doll. I don’t need to panic. Too much loss won’t kill you – just parts of you. It makes me lighter when I release them but it’s this feeling after – they insulated us. It’s so raw at first. Don’t pick them back up. Trust yourself to go on without those old leaves and without those old ghosts.

I miss the ghosts.

Alice Smith 2021

Published by 361one

when I write I am a king. Listen to more at 361 live podcast

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