A Ballad of Phantoms and Hope

by K.M. Moronova

“Not this time, baby. Go on ahead without me. I’ll see you two later.”

She vanishes. Liam vanishes. And I’m left alone in the darkness.

I believe in, well, love. In its purest form—in the most intimate and selfless light it’s meant to be in. And dying young, protecting the two people I cherish more than my aching soul can bear, is an act of love I would do over for eternity if I had to.

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

Why is my chest filled with so much torment and grief? Why am I still so fucking depressed?

One day, I just woke up and couldn’t paint a smile on for one more second.

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.

But I didn’t have a shoulder either, not a hug or a warm place to find safety in my darkest of times. And I didn’t turn out to be a cold-blooded sack of shit. So where’s the excuse? Where’s the silver lining? It’s not fair. It was never fair, and I suffered for it.

This lovely phantom is the very image of tragedy. She is a ballad of mournful movements, bones, and tattered lace—a symphony unlike any I’ve endured.

There are moments in one’s existence when you connect with another in a mere second, something sinks deep into your soul, planting a yearning that may never fade. A song that chills your bones and rattles the blood in your veins.

Wynn spoke so much of flowers being beautiful in death; I think I finally found that depressing sentiment after searching for five long years.

You know what? Everyone can, quite literally, eat shit.

The way the wind caresses him as he reaches out for me is like a ballad. One that I’ve danced to a million times over but never quite found the right footing to. His light brown hair is chaos and his eyes are a storm of greens, blues, and dashes of yellow. A parchment of sorrowful words written and scrawled—he reminds me of such a somber, nostalgic song—one of sadness and death. One never known. He is a ballad of phantoms… and, perhaps, one of hope.

He slowly opens his eyes and stares into my soul, and then—the most damning thing. A sad smile.

“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.”

This is the moment I know I’m in trouble. The way every cell in my being reverberates and responds to her. Ophelia is liquid in my veins. Her laugh forever haunting.

Ophelia looks at me, an ocean of misery in her eyes, and says, “Because no one would ever find me here, where the sky kisses the earth, where I was no longer an ailment to others. Here, I was the goddess of the forest—the only person to breathe the cold air and tell the trees my pain.”

“You hid here because you thought about not existing anymore.”

“I hid here… because I knew I didn’t want to exist anymore.”

“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.”

Drifting. That’s what I call the strange dissociation we seem to experience here—drawn into our thoughts like the depths of a deep lake. Sometimes, it feels as though weights are pulling down on our legs, making it harder to hear the surface. It is as if we are drowning—slowly and without awareness of it.

It’s terrifying to feel as though you’re losing yourself bit by bit.

Why doesn’t anyone I develop feelings for stay?

Abandonment. My weakness. My forever trigger. It stings almost as much as the fucking bullet that killed me. I ache inside with more emotions than I’ve felt in years. She left me. I’m always the one left behind.

But I’m not sure how long we can resist this call from the universe, the pull of the very atoms in our ghosts. We will collide, this I am sure.

“I cannot rid you from my mind, Ophelia. It’s as if you’ve instilled an illness of your own into me. You are the sole thought that ravages my mind as I lie awake at night. The ceilings make me think of you. The forest. Roses. Breathing—I cannot take breath without you eroding my sanity.”

We are still here. We always have been, and we always will be.

We’d planned on staying somewhere nice for the evening, but nothing ever truly goes how we intend. Murphy’s Law and whatnot.

I want you. I know you more than you could ever realize. I hear your cries for someone to understand you.

She’s an ocean I’ve been swept up in, taken out into the depths where there will be no return. Together, we’ll be lost for eternity, and the sound of that is not unpleasant.

How many times did I call out for my mother, Please help me. Why do you allow this? And to my father, Please stop. I’m sorry I exist. It hurts.

“I’ll tell you a secret, my rose.” Her eyes are blurry with tears, but she waits for my words. “We are the light.”

“Like phoenixes—the symbol of rebirth after tragedy.”

There I remained, curled under the particle board with my backpack tucked tightly between my chest and thighs. I cried loudly. Uncaring. The sobs filled the dark room, and no one heard the words I said. No one heard me. “I want to die.”

I wish I had a light like you. I love you, Lanston. Until the stars die. Ophelia

Love never truly dies. Time cannot steal everything away from us. Not this. Not the soft kisses and whispers in the dusk of the world. Not the ache that nestles inside our chests and blooms when our eyes catch. Love, in its purest form—our ghosts.

Clutching the stone, I whisper, “I’m not afraid of your darkness, Ophelia. We are the light.”

The constellations shine through his eyes, the celestial light that is Lanston Nevers. “I love you, Lanston.” I sniffle past the tears, a wavering smile pulling at my lips. “Together we stand, two phantoms amidst the dark, the cruel. Our love is damaged but healed with unbreakable bonds. We will light the way.” Lanston presses his forehead to mine, letting his tears fall as the sky dances around us this close to the veil. “For all those who stray.” “For all those who stray,” I confirm. An endless night brings upon the dawn.

“Why am I the butterfly?” Lanston pulls me to his chest, my head resting on his sternum as we stare up at the night sky. “Because you're colorful and lively, like a butterfly.” “And why are you the moth?” “Because I’m always chasing your light.”

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

“I love you, Ophelia. Fiercely, unconditionally, until the stars die.” I know this isn’t goodbye, our journey has just begun, yet I find myself memorizing the curve of his jaw, the softness of his lips, and the depth of his eyes. “Until the ocean dries.”