Memories of a Distant Past

Ghosts.

Ghosts of the past.

Ambiguity.

Every one of them walk with a button on their faces: a replay button. Every time my eyes brush across their faces, it inevitably plays back vivid memories. Colors, smells and emotions. Each one more suffocating than the last. Waves upon waves of memories flood through me and not many are joyful. The hot tears that i swallow back down, the screams I suppress inside.

A stranger in a familiar place.

A foreigner.

An alien.

An intruder.

They seemed so focused on their rituals, I was nothing but an intruder in a comfortable life. Being in a lpace that used to be called “home” yet yearning to get away from it.

Memories_FRANK151Ghosts.

Ghosts of the past.

Friends now strangers. Shadows. Blurry faces and shady colors drained of their vibrance and vigor. The once bright crimson turned into a dull, throbbing grey. The voices that once brought smiles through the tears now sound like cacophoneous and dissonant ramblings that are too loud for comfort. Like a cup of warm, tranquil tea that was left out to freeze in the blizzard of the night, their presence leave nothing but a chill which haunts the soul after everyone else leaves.

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