Conversations with Your Ghost

I didn't expect your death to affect me this way.  I'm sure you didn't either.  I know we haven't talked in years, but there was still the idea that you were out there.  Maybe I'd cross your mind every now and then, and maybe, just maybe, it would bring a smile to your face.  You crossed my mind from time to time.  Can you believe it?  The memories of us. . . we shared.  Now only I carry them on.  I was happy to hear you found someone.  I mean that.  Maybe I have no right to feel this sorrow from your death.  The truth is I am grateful to you.  You helped me find my way when I was so lost.  You helped me get home, and you made the  ride back something I don't ever want to forget.  You were so young.  I wish I could have known, could have warned you.  I know these are just empty wishes.  You are gone now.  My memories of you will stay warm in my heart.  I would bring you back if I could, even if I never saw you again.  I shouldn't be having these conversations with your ghost. . .

Applications

At some point in our lives we realize we have accepted a particular role.  We sign on to a certain way of being, a character, and we cannot even remember at what point we signed our souls away.  One day we wake up, and we find ourselves in a certain life, a certain way of dressing, a group of friends, a designated attitude.  I suppose this is life, and the actions we take that lead us on our paths are so slight, so gradual that we don't realize we have all along been creating a map that leads us to ourselves until we stop to reflect.  We do this so seldom.  Reflecting.  I suppose that is the reason I am writing this now.  Something happened to stop me, and made me realize that the day to day droning along was not without meaning.  It lead me here.  Nothing is really meaningless.  Not when you stop to reflect.  Not only this, I have so little control over what happens around me, that I damn well better make sure that my personal actions are meaningful.  I can control that much.  I feel pains of regret when thinking about so much of my past that I slept through.  I cannot live in that regret, and I cannot waste the present anymore.  The next moment can be stolen from me without even being given a chance to fight to keep it, much less to live in it meaningfully.  I can despair for this realization, or I can honor the memories that, right now, sadden me, and stay awake for the ride.