Old Mission

Yesterday I found myself standing in front of Old Mission Lighthouse, looking inland from the perspective of a frozen lake. I came out to make a fun little video of me playing an ocarina by a snowman, but only seconds after playing those final notes I fell into a deep an utter despair of depression. I could barely speak, barely move. I felt cold but sweaty in the hands. I acted weird around my family, and the silence of the frozen bay entered my brain like a parasite killing of any sense of guard I've placed around any raw unprocessed emotions I had yet to sort through. It was intense and confusing, and I would still be floating in the mystery of that experience if it had not been for my mother sending me a picture of a painting of that lighthouse that hangs on the walls of her home. My dad fancied that lighthouse as one of his favorites, and the painting verified that I was indeed standing quite a ways out into the frozen lake. 

Maybe I was visited by a ghost. Maybe I was the ghost.

That night I fell asleep into intense dreams about a *friend from a long time ago. 

*Demirci