Chapter 2 The Ghosts of our past

I wrote for hours, the words pouring out of me like blood from a wound. It was cathartic, yet painful, like ripping off a bandage to expose the raw flesh beneath. As I wrote, memories flooded my mind. Memories of Alexander, of our laughter, our tears, and our fights. Memories of the way he used to hold me, the way he used to look at me, and the way he used to love me. But alongside those memories, other ghosts emerged. Ghosts of my past, of the people and experiences that had shaped me into the person I am today.

I thought about my childhood, about the parents who had loved me but also hurt me. I thought about the friends I had made and lost, the ones who had betrayed me and the ones who had stood by me. And I thought about Alexander's past, about the demons that had driven him to hurt me. I realized that his ghosts had been just as real as mine, and that our love had been a collision of two damaged souls. As the night wore on, I wrote until my hand ached and my eyes blurred. But with each word, I felt a weight lifting, a burden shedding. It was as if I was exorcising the ghosts of my past, one by one. Finally, exhausted but exhilarated, I laid down my pen. The room was silent, except for the sound of my own ragged breathing. I felt drained, but I also felt free. For the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe again. Like I could see a future beyond the scars of my past. And as I drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the ghosts of our past, I knew that I was ready to face whatever came next. Ready to face the love that had hurt me, and the love that would one day heal me.