Haunted
Only Evil spirits Haunt people, right? That is precisely how the word “Haunted” has been used for centuries. A Haunted house, a Haunted graveyard, a Haunted doll, everything that is Haunted has a habit of latching onto its prey and causing harm to its victims, right? None of us would wish to be Haunted by such a cruel thing, right?
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But what if I want to be Haunted? What if I crave the sweet release of knowing that there is something Haunting me, something that has so wholly devoted itself to me, so entirely became mine, that it is Haunting me. That all it concerns itself with, is me.
I suppose being Haunted is the purest form of Love there is — to have a part inside of you, that was never yours to begin with — that Haunts every waking moment of your existence with its subtle incarnations in everyday actions. A mere thought of them turns into a complete conversation, as if you’re talking to a ghost.
Being Haunted was never meant to be attached to something evil, it was a form of devotion — a form of obsession, so pure and beautiful, it Haunts its beloved muse. To be Haunted, is to be Loved.
