ghost of yesterday

I found it behind a pile of books crammed into a corner of my room, untouched since I stopped writing three years ago. I thought it was empty, like the other half a dozen notebooks with beautiful covers that I refuse to write in. But reaching for a new notebook, the cover lifted and there it was, a snapshot of someone I was three years ago. It was like looking at an old friend that will never come back.

Three years hardly feel like any time at all, but I can't remember the last time I felt the way she did. I've been trying to resurrect a ghost, holding onto what I thought were feelings just in order to have something to write about. She doesn't say much; she doesn't need fancy words, or an endless string of metaphors, but it's easy enough to figure out that she's in love. There are only three entries, all before everything fell apart.

My fingers trace the juvenile handwriting, and I want so much to protect her from what's to come. I'd never let her go to the transit center that day, I'd tell her to hold onto that feeling just a little longer because you won't be happy again for a very long time. But all I have is an old notebook.


Effy-Underground said...

I almost cried reading this entry. I experience the same thing when I go through old notebooks, journals that have three entries. When I find my ghost, it gives a remembrance of happy feelings. Really wish we could save them from whats to come.

amda said...

thanks Effy-Underground (: I'm really glad that you could identify with this post.