Κυριακή, 13 Δεκεμβρίου 2015

Sunday's ghosts

Sundays.
Dead days wondering around, carrying dead memories you wouldn't even want to remember. Ghosts buried deep into the limbo of your twisted mind. Dead distant relatives that you believed they lived in another era, in another planet or another solar system.
Sundays remind you of what you were, what you wanted to be and what you have become. And it's not really pleasant, is it?
Today you woke up and it was gloomy. More than usual. But you know well enough that you left behind the land of the sun and the sea. And it's this time of the year, as the norma command you, to make your calculations. You should go back and seek and find what you wanted to be, to do, to accomplish a year ago and where you are now. And it's not too soon and it's not too late for you to realise that where are you is not where you wanted to be but at the same time you will comfort yourself by saying that this is all you were able to do, this is where you were able to be and that's it.
And as the time pass, you will comfort yourself even more. You'll say that you like it here. You will adjust and compromise and endure all the challenges. Because this is what you always do. You start something and you finish it. There is no way back.
And one day like today, not quite soon, but soon enough, you will wake up and you will find your ghost waiting for you in your living room. Holding a hot cup of coffee and waving to you to come sit with it on the table. And it will remind you what you thought it was forgotten and gone. This will be the moment that you will see what you wouldn't want to see today. 
Your ghost will not be kind with you. Your ghost will remind you that it was always there. Never left, never disappeared, never forgot and never neglected you. It was you, choosing not to see it standing there.
Your ghost has a name. 
Can you say it out loud? Can you admit what it is?
That's the first step.
Good.

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