That thing happened again. That person. That event. That habit. That thing from your past that you keep buried deep and far back in the closet of your mind. It/they are your past you remind yourself. Still, from time to time, the door creaks open, and a bony finger protrudes threatening to blow the lid off of all that you are now! I’ll expose you is the subtle implication!
I am not enslaved anymore to that person or event you convince yourself. For it is merely a memory.
Maybe it was a good thing you can never share or possibly explain. Maybe it’s a horrific secret that took years of therapy to overcome. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. Whatever it is, whoever they are, chances are, it may have something to do with the reason you write now.
Skeletons are skeevy this way. Though they cannot speak, they remind you of a time when they were more flesh than bones, once so alive and real, so powerfully remembered. Their story whether by choice or happenstance merged with your story, daring you to break the concrete covenant of silence.
Like the singing siren who softly lures the seaman to come drown in her ocean, the skeleton sometimes rattles in his closet demanding to be let out. He will tempt you with memory and mesmerize you with lies.
It’s okay. Dare him to walk into the light. Come on out and do a little dance with me!
I’m not who I was. And now—I can see right through you.
Write! Write because you loved. Write because you endured. Write because you witnessed. Write because you survived. Write because you lived like you never knew you could. Write because you are not afraid of anything now. Write because you’re stronger than any skeleton or their poison secrets. Write because now you live life true. Write because you’re just brave enough to say it and then do.