We all have little ghosts that flit around our faces, little clips of old, haunting speeches that we play on our gramophones inside our heads. (I picture gramophones because of how ancient and creepy they sound.) I think someone today turned the volume up because their cackling became especially piercing. Typical comments blended with closeted wounds.
“I wouldn’t say pretty, but somewhere more along the lines of…cute?”
That one is one of my personal favorites. I thought I’d share it with you. I’ve learned to laugh off most of them. (See above quotation.) I found humor makes the little Caspers more transparent. Strangely enough, I can laugh off the ones that others gave me, but I can’t seem to look the ghosts in the eye that I brought into the room. They melt into me, convincing me of things that never would have existed if I hadn’t have turned on that crackling gramophone. These ones I can’t laugh away. These ones speak of events that my memory can’t recall, that the world hasn’t even seen play out. They speak of petite femme fatales with hair blonder than mine could ever be, ruts I haven’t jumped into, mistakes I haven’t made, and oceans I haven’t drowned in.
And I have nights like this where I forget who is the ghost and who is the girl.