Like everyone else, I have things I don’t necessarily want to talk about, and one of those things is myself. A lot of people would attribute this to humility. I know I’m not ‘all that’ and would never claim to be. Even so, this reluctance to discuss myself feels more fear-induced than anything else. I guess you could say I’m scared of ghosts. People can become them. You can laugh with them, hold them, maybe even kiss them. Until you can’t. Until they leave. And then what do you have? Memories. They can do their best to disappear from your life, but that won’t stop you from thinking of them at 3am. You know you should be sleeping, but instead you’re thinking about the songs you shared, and their laugh, and how they held you when you could barely keep yourself together. And then you’re breaking, because you remember for the nth time that they’re not there to hold you together anymore. I’ve read about it, I’ve seen it, in some ways I’ve even lived it. So now I’m not as open a book as I used to be. I decide the speed at which my pages are turned, or if they’re even turned at all. After hearing and being a character in too many ghost stories, you begin to expect people to become them. You become wary of them, expecting their pseudo-death. Everyone deals with this wariness differently. Some decide to disappear first. Others like me wait for what feels like an inevitable end, but hope for a better outcome. When I open up to you, I’m asking you to be different. I’m asking you to not turn into another person that haunts me.