By "that precious ghost" I hope you don't mean your writing. Never lose that ghost please.
Whoever asked this, please write a book. I mean that in all seriousness. You’re clearly quite perceptive, and I was actually a little shocked that you hit this on the head so perfectly.
My writing collapsed. I really wish it didn’t, but it did. I didn’t get rejected or criticized negatively for it. I just woke up one day and didn’t have that part of me anymore. I’ve been sterilized, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why. Some nights I lie in bed, and I wish desperately to be haunted again…but the cup is dry, the lights are all out, and the ‘tender sent everyone home. Life is strangely silent, and I think that’s good; but I think it’s also terrible. Someday I know I’ll return, but I don’t know if I could ever dig as deeply again. I don’t know if I could ever go so low again. I think I’d die. I’ve tried. I really have. It’s just all so…fleeting. It’s all so monumentally bad that I just can’t bring myself to continue.
Some day I’ll be back. Hopefully some day soon.
Thanks for seeing it when it was though. It means a lot.
“Ohio is a silent thrill. In it, I can think of nothing else but broken jaws and bloodstained lips; yet, the thought of leaving it again is unbearable. This state is my Father, and I often fear we shall never speak again.”—Christian Tenbrook