The Ghost
of
The Past
by: Ulysses Ybiernas ♦ March 12, 2019
A pain can resurface without warning, stirring old wounds and reminding us that some buried sorrows still linger to disturb our peace.
A small fragment of my sorrowed past slips quietly into the present, uninvited. Like a shadow that lingers, unwilling to rest. It arrives not as a guest, but as a social obligation somehow. Or maybe, that momentary glimpse that tries to stir the ashes of things I thought buried and long forgotten in the grave of the "unlikely" has to rekindle back, just to remind me that it existed.
Yes, here it is. Like a wound that never quite healed, a sting that unfurls deep into my soul, waking the old embers of anger, the indignation I thought had withered away. It is an unwelcome visitor, one I must push back into its dormant place, shielding my quiet spirit from its unsettling touch.
I remember those days, when some, in their careless ambition, tried to stain my name, not for truth's sake, but for social acceptance, to play the clown to be noticed.
It's quite tragic, really, how some, born from rags, could so easily forget the weight of gratitude fate had gifted them. Instead, they smear the reputation of others with the ease of ignorance. Like a fool who spoke without knowing. Not even a friend or kin of the person they derided, but just a stranger to the heart of the matter, trying to cast stones where they had no right to throw.
And yet, there they were, subjecting someone to ridicule, hiding behind indirect jabs, thinking their words were clever. But I saw through them. Their cryptic codes fell flat.
I buried it all at once and let it sink into the abyss of oblivion a long time ago. And yet it returned just a moment ago, like an echo. A ghost of what I thought was gone, trying to haunt me once more.
Old wounds have a way of returning uninvited, whispering that buried sorrows are never truly gone. When they stir and trouble our peace, we are called once more to face them gently and to do the quiet work of laying them to rest again.
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