Haunted

Perhaps I believe in ghosts after all,
For I think I may have noticed one or two
As I visited old haunts and remembered;
Missing your company, and what we shared;
Walking over the graves of dreams that died stillborn;
Or that I killed off by carelessness, or neglect;
Never realizing how much was slipping away,
And how there's no going back to what used to be.
Happy memories gone bad can't be made over,
But always flavor whatever comes after.
And some pains just aren't supposed to go away,
But must be lived and relived until
They become second nature to ourselves.
And we are as much defined by the scars we carry
As the triumphs we record.
Somehow, the mountains are never as high
As the valleys are low.
At least that is what I tell myself
While chatting with my ghosts
Of what has been, and can never be again.