Thought I Buried This Ghost

I don't really know where this came from....this afternoon I rediscovered my Linkin Park Meteora CD (after having lost it for a few months), and I was lying on my bed listening to it, and this just came. Reading this, you might think it easily applies to a particular situation in my life, but I wasn't really thinking about that when I started writing. I mean, obviously that's where the majority of the emotion came from, but I didn't sit down with the intention of writing about that. At the present time, I'm all good with who this piece could apply to...but anyway, here it is. It's really random and really unpolished, but this journal isn't here for apologies.



I'm standing alone in the woods. It's late fall - no snow, but no leaves on the trees, either. In my hand is a dry, flat, dead flower. You gave it to me. Told me you couldn't be my friend any more, and left. I pressed the flower between the pages of my unfinished journal, and it was still there this morning when I flipped back to it. It's faded, and ugly now. One of those things you look back at and wonder why you ever thought it was beautiful in the first place. The sun's setting now, and the sky's a funny gold color. Pretty. Here where I'm standing, it's muddy and damp. I realize, suddenly, that I'm crying. I'm so silly, sometimes, so stupid, so--God, why did you leave me like this? You were the closest, you knet whe most, you understood the most, and just when I thought things couldn't possibly get any worse, you lashed out and ripped yourself away from me. You left me mauled, and bleeding, and I was just startled and confused. Stupid oaf that I am, so stupid...the flower drops and hits the ground as I lift my hands to cover my face. I feel so weak now. It's like you took all of my strength and courage and resolve with you. It's rather difficult to go on without those things. And yet, I will. Even if I have to crawl to gain every inch, I will. You took everything you could and I don't know why. But I know I'm going on.