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The Ghost From the Past You Never Had

It's been two years now and we haven't invaded a single house, but we've scavenged the premise for the possibilities. Empty parking lots and now that old bridge they showed us. But I guess we won't see that winter ever again or that autumn, or that spring. Maybe we'll revisit it again, with different branches in our hands, with different shoes on our feet. The same way we never did go back to that boat we found, on that old terrain. We never closed that hole and set sail through those canals, sabotaging the old folk and throwing rocks at the Hispanic bike gang. We never rode our bikes down that old street again, but we found new streets to lurk in. We never did have those water gun fights again, but we did manage to find some construction sites. 

Maybe it's just the way it is. We're always searching for somewhere to colonize, a new fortress to build, an empty shell to fill our souls with; or our empty souls to fill. We want to escape this suburb, but our escape is the suburb itself. A place we don't understand but we half grew up in. We want to reject it, not for what it is but for what everyone else wants it to be. So we make homes outside of our houses, on the empty streets, on the vacant houses, on these parking lots. 

That night, we picked the locks that had been left open. We brought the amplifiers and we set up a party. But it was only us. A farewell party that would last months. We baptized those streets and we called them our own, a resting place for ghosts. Our ghosts, and we sang it so loud, we sang nothing and everything at once. Our own, our ghost own. I pissed from the roof, and you understood what I meant when I said that was where we were and what we always had been. We wanted to leave something, something that no one else would ever know about, buried in the walls. 

They say that sound waves never dissipate, so they're like ghosts from the past, but that you'll never feel are haunting you. So we decided to leave our ghosts there, trapped in that house, a song that will be played forever, but that no one will ever hear.

That year I wandered searching for faint voices from my past, voices that crossed the corners and pierced my mind at night. I drew their stories in my head. And in winter, we left our present in somebody else's past. The past they never had. 

We are the ghosts. 

The ghosts from the past you never had.