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  • The old ghost you want to go away
    Is the one I claim(ed) my friend
    Sometimes he came to stay
    Sometimes from him I run away
    That old ghost payed his rent
    So I couldn’t scare him away

    Whenever I was sitting in the room alone, even if the ghost was asleep, I would be afraid of it. As I grew older I learnt to have him very near. He was my friend, he was called Fear.

    My friend always held my hand. No matter where, no matter what. Sometimes the ghost was as transparent as glass. Sometimes you could see Fear drawing tears in my ear so I couldn’t the sweet words hear. I just lied to you, my reader. I could hear sweetness but never thought it was real.

    Slowly and slowly the ghost was part of me and my name changed. I wasn’t myself anymore. I wouldn’t jump, swim, run or glide. I would only be able to fight. Sometimes I won Fear and happily I would giggle. Most of the times Fear was too strong and made me hide when he threw me bombs.

    Fear made the words bully me. Fear made the hands hit me. Fear made me be scared of those supposed to love you. Fear was too strong. Fear just wanted to go along. Fear would use fists, shouts and kicks. Fear would scream so that tears would run on my cheek. As I said, Fear, the old ghost, although being old, was strong. Maybe the age had made him strong.

    Fear would make me starve. Fear would make me laugh. At myself.

    Fear kept growing and growing, stronger and stronger. Until the old ghost with his bombs, his dark rooms, his fists and his words would grow too old.And then, you know. I started being me. I started being free. I started to win.

    Sometimes, today, the old ghost still moves his head inside me. Sometimes Fear wants me to remember, the ghost sometimes steps back in and wants me to be scared. Sometimes ghost wants me to go back and not to go away. Not to be free. Not to enjoy my day. Not to fly away.

    I’ve also grown stronger. And even if I’m sometimes afraid of the unknown, of my dreams, of my freedom, of love, of my own, I’m not Fear anymore. ‘Cause slowly and slowly Fear and I are falling apart and “like a tree that loses his ripe fruits on the floor, Old Ghost, he’s going home, he’s going back, where he’s come from”.
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