There have been psychopomps all around me the past few days.
Not in the forms of sparrows a la The Dark Half. Not like that. But in the forms of things that give me a jolt like the icy finger of the ghost of a long-lost loved one, tapping me on the shoulder when it doesn;t even belong in this world.
These things I've seen and heard, they're like the manifestations of ghosts. The image of a ship and murky teal water. A familiar beat over the stereo at a restaurant. The image of a park trail that brought back memories...but no, the trail in this picture was too wide, too open, with less congested trees. Not the same park, but for a moment...
They're ghosts of what might have been. They're ghosts of what never was. I see them, let them startle me for a moment, and then let them go. Where they go isn't for me to know. But I've done a lot of work regarding getting him out of my head, so these ghosts have no place in my world anymore.
The more I let go, the more I let in. More ideas, more characters. For the first time in years, I am solely focused on one person. For the first time in ever, I have given him all of me that I can possibly give. He even, dare I say it, gets my crazy writer side. He gets why I was haunted for so long.
I'll let these little things be psychopomps. Carry the soul of what had been briefly born between two people to somewhere else, some other world. Each experience jolts me for a second, but my shoulders feel a little bit lighter every time.