A Ballad of Phantoms and Hope

by K.M. Moronova

Ghosts are sadness and regret. Our hearts bleed as much as the living.

My light died a long time ago—flickering with the many exhales of disapproval until finally, with one big breath, it was blown completely out. Like a withering candle left out in the cold, surely to hush and diminish as expected.

Heartless assholes aren’t born, you know. They’re trained into it. Their souls have been drained early and thoroughly by the wicked people before them. Hurt people tend to hurt people.

Life is a circus of betrayal and dread. Nothing good stays and nothing bad ever really goes.

To choose to be lonely rather than opening yourself up to others. I know that pain.

“Of course, it hurts… I think it always will. But most things that wound your heart like this are worth it. It only hurts because of how precious we hold them. I’m never alone, not really, because I know they will carry the weight of me with them forever.”

“I think I prefer it that way. I like being forgotten—it’s more poetic and tragic.”

“I was raised to keep the dark thoughts inside my head to myself. My family didn’t believe in therapy. In fact, it was often used as a threat.”

She’s broken in so many ways, but she’s strong. Hides her feelings away like they don’t exist, but I know they’re there.

It makes me sad—the secrets we keep to protect our hearts. Even against those we love most.

I’ve learned to embrace my solitude; being alone is something I hold dear.

I just want to not think anymore. To be free of the torment of my own doing.

“If the moth catches the butterfly, it will consume it. If the butterfly catches the moth, it will tear off its wings. Which do you think should catch the other?”

“They are my take on yearning. You see, the moth is darkness, chasing the butterfly, craving the brightness of it. But when the moth is the one running, the butterfly, being light, chases it in return, unable to exist without the moth, because without darkness there is no light.”

I find that I’m drawn to his patience. His understanding and care.

I’m always the one left behind.

Why do the loveliest of souls get stomped on?

There is no pain greater than feeling left behind. Forgotten.

I think that’s what I fear the most, being nothing.

I wanted to be fixed. I wanted to be good. I wanted to stop being a disappointment to those who didn’t understand the battle I was having with my brain.

My father frowned as I told him of the recent dance gig I landed. “You’ll go hungry chasing these silly dreams,” he said coldly.

I’d learned just to nod and accept whatever they’d say.

Part of me wanted their approval. I knew that was stupid, but I still wanted it.

Love never truly dies. Time cannot steal everything away from us. Not this.

Finding peace was never going to be about experiencing tangible things or seeing beautiful sights. It is the company in which it is spent, the meaning and love that is sewn into our fabric, the colors and images we keep of the most cherished ones, and experiencing together the dreams never pursued.

They say time heals wounds. Of all kinds. But I don’t think that’s true. I think time only buries things into depths that are no longer so easily stared upon.

“I’ll love you until the stars die. I’d follow you into the darkest night,”