Ghosts ___________________________________________
I see them everywhere. Ghosts of my former life. Ghosts that shadow those I hold dear to my heart, and ghosts of those who I pray to never see again. I see them all the time, though, no matter where I am or what I'm doing. Fighting crime or paying bills. Taking notes or swinging around New York City. All the time.
I used to think I was imagining them for certain- I mean, ghosts really aren't real, are they? But now I'm not so sure. Maybe they're pictures of the life I wanted so badly but could do without. Maybe they're my inner mind taking control and focusing me to look at something that I've seen before and something that I never have. Maybe they aren't really there, and I need to admit myself into a mental institution for the almost-insane. I can see it now: Spider-Man and the needle that wouldn't say no. Wouldn't that be a great way to end my crime-fighting, nonexistent life- on a sharp point. Literally.
But the ghosts. They make me think of all of the things I'm missing in my pursuit to make this city a better place. They make me want the things that I know I'll never have- the girlfriend, the steady job, the small house with the white picket fence- and need them more than ever. Maybe not the house with the white picket fence, but some other sort of stability. God knows I wish I had stability. But I can never have it because of who I am, the powers I've been given, and ultimately my morals and ethics. My past and present hold me back because I'm stuck at the point where I'm constantly moving but going no where. Ever.
At the moment, though, I'm swinging through the breeze and cutting past buildings that I don't even recognize. I would, of course, know where I was if I were paying attention. But paying attention in times of deepest thought is never an easy thing. And as I dive in the air with no harness or net to catch me, I'm in the deepest thought I've ever really been in.
Does Spider-Man really make me who I am? Does he control my life the way I've never been able to, thus taking me over and turning me into a puppet for the sufferers of this city? I protect and I save and I get nothing else in life to balance that- no gratitude, no comfort, no support, and no one to talk about this all with. Because everyone I've ever tried talking with, I had to stop when I saw them. The ghosts always show up and become the image of what could happen if I ever told anyone my secret. That I, Peter Parker, am Spider-Man and I wish to hell I wasn't.
Sometimes I just want to stand in the middle of Times Square and take off my mask and shout to the world who I am and what I've done. Sometimes I want to fly over to Aunt May's house, tear off the fabric that encircles my life and soul, and make sure she sees what's become of me. Sometimes, when the world has taken its toll and I can no longer move or think, I want to simply curl up in a ball, lay on my bed, and sleep for the rest of my life. But then the ghosts get to me, or my spider-sense, and I know I have to go. Before I drive myself insane.
Oh yeah. Too late.
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