"Even You, Even Me".

She told the story wrong from the beginning,

It's not a Ghost Story... but still, perfectly splendid.

I've got a story for you, not mine but well...

Does the name of the story matters? The context? Who told first? And to whom does it belong to?

We all need a good story some time to time, even maybe more these days. November, the most depressing month they say, so says the statisticians and I couldn't agree more. As I got used to in my childhood, now in 2020 more than ever, I only rely on good stories now. Not on people... Not on society... Sometimes not even me. I only rely on good stories because they are past, they're accomplished, safe. They inspire and if it is really worth to be told, it teaches you more than you expect, more then you can digest even. Whatever the finality, I dream about making one my own some day, maybe more than one.

I don't rely on people, because I don't let them rely on me sometimes. A vicious cycle, isn't it? I'm getting to comfortable in my indoors, I don't leave enough room for others. Sometimes people just need to be alone.

Once you discover the beauty of loneliness and the power you get from freeing yourself from others' lifestyles / ideas, have to admit, hard not to fall in love with the world you can reach buy tapping your keyboard, by taking a pen or taking a walk. And add all to your imagination, may even makes you feel like you own the world!

I like you. But I also like my life the way it is. Nice and boring.

Nice and boring. Cozy, chill. The only thing that challenges you is you. The only wall you can hit is you. Every interaction you do is another risk, risk of being rejected. But you need others sometimes to get to some places...

Everyone you meet is a possible friend or a possible mate. Oh, and possible heartbreaker, back-stabber, sneaky opportunist, boat-sinker. 1 or 0, and we try to continue with 1s. Oppressive people : Shoot them out. A horrible boss, Complain, Sue - if not Curse - Resign. A careless boyfriend - Thank you, Next. Nothing was easier than pushing the "Stop" button than right now because no one can tolerate anything anymore. Government, politics, teachers, friends, enemies... We see too much, before getting all the pleasure in the right evolution of things, we consume too rapidly. Nice and boring. Not much of a choice.

Oh my, I'm becoming more individualist every day, but that doesn't mean I stop trying. I am there for you, as much as, sometimes more than, you are for me. I hope you know that. But It feels good to reveal, deep down it's hard, I have struggles to not to lose the most human parts of me and sometimes I lie, like you do.

Everyone is exhaustive. Even the best ones. But sometimes, once in a goddamned moon I guess, someone, like this moonflower, just might be worth the effort.

As for the story, I'm always mad at myself for not having pursued one of my greatest passions. I know it's still not too late to start from the bottom, but I have many passions, I'm a little dispersed (And for a while a little pessimist). I'm not depressed even if we're on November, I enjoy my day to day life, just the big picture scares me: fading without success. But then I hear a good story, it gives me hope, reassures me that sometimes the meaning you give to life is enough to stay strong and carry on on the way you feel the most like "you", wherever you find your comfort and happiness. Wherever what you put gets back to you as a reward.

Dani : You planted that ?

Jamie: Yeah. It's a moonflower. Bloody hard to grow in England.

D: Yeah but worth it!

J: Is it?

D: Isn't it ?

J: This plant only blooms two months a year. And only at night. Each bud only once. These flowers will be dead by morning, and tomorrow night, new buds will bloom, and they'll die. In three weeks, this entire plant will be dead. And in the spring, I'll have to plant a whole new moonflower.

D: That's a lot of work for a flower that only blooms once.

J: That's what people feel like to me. Exhaustive effort, very little to show for it.

D: All of them?

J: All of them. Even you. Even me. Especially me. So, I figured I'd save you some effort. Skip to the end. Take a shot. Why not? So here it goes, OK?

D: Mm-hm.

J: "Mum was Louise, Dad was Dennis. Dennis met Louise when she was 18. He was 24. Total surprise, a year later, my brother Denny. And me, less of a surprise, I guess. Dad starts working in a coal mine. It's, uh, more money. Slightly more, but he's barely home now, and Louise, well... Louise is home with the kids, but she's basically a kid herself. A kid with two kids and a husband 600 meters down. So, she does what kids do. She plays.

So, Dad's underground, and Mum's under some bloke, and the thing about a coal mine... Well, the thing I think about most now I'm older : No plants down there. No life at all. See these men... We send them down into this dark mess, digging for something dead. So dead that it's now lumps of dead things, so old and lifeless that they will literally burn, and that was his life. While she did whatever she could to feel alive. All that death, that dark, powdery death is all over his face, his hands, his fucking lungs when he comes up. There's not a leaf, not a branch, not a flower in his world, and when he finally climbs out of that grave, finally climbs back to the land of the living, they laugh at him. They laugh because the whole town knows that the new baby, my little brother Mikey, isn't his. So Dennis buries his head in the soot, and they ... praise him for his loyalty, while they mock him for cuckold. Louise, on the other hand, call a spade a spade, and they call my mum a whore. Call the daughter one too, bully her at school, on the streets. Even makes its way home. Little Denny piles on, tries to save his own skin by blaming all the females in the family. And in '67, Louise bolts. She splits, and I come home from school to find Mikey, alone, screaming his little head off. He's still a baby, and he doesn't understand what he's done wrong. I try and take care of him. But I'm just a kid. Kids can't raise kids. I forget things. Like watching over a pot when it boils.

So, one day there's an accident. Social Services gets involved and we're split up. Dad did his best. He spent so long underground, didn't know what to do with a kid, let alone three kids. So, he disappeared into the dirt. Then, it was foster care. Just a bunch of stale, perverted men with bitter wives, hoping to make a few quid by taking care of the local trash. I left for London pretty soon after that. Got myself into al sorts of trouble there. Wound up serving a couple for years. And it's there I start gardening. Busy work for idle hands. But I fucking love it.

Love it. And it's so clear then, how people aren't worth it. But plants, you pour your love and your effort and your nourishment into them, and you see where it goes. You watch them grow and it all makes sense. So, yeah, everyone is exhaustive. Even the best ones. But sometimes, once in a goddamned moon I guess, someone, like this moonflower, just might be worth the effort.

(...) I also know that you don't decide who lives and who doesn't. Humans are organic. It's a fact. We're meant to die. It's natural, beautiful. And it all breaks down and rises back up, and breaks down again, and every little thing grows out of every dying thing. We leave more life behind us to take our place. That life refreshes and recycles, and on and on it goes. And that is so much better than that life getting crushed, deep down in the dirt into a rock that will burn if it's old enough. So much better to see the leafling and flower. We leave more life behind to take our place. Like this moonflower. It's where all its beauty lies, you know. In the mortality of the thing."

First time I saw American Horror Story : Murder House , I thought that was the best horror story ever to be plotted. Its scenario was more intelligent than most of the horror movies / shows ( R-rated C-quality ), it was thrilling and kept me on my couch when I was 12.

I have no words for The Haunting of Hill House, to its character insights, the timeline, the plot-twist, the main ideas and the emotional struggles.

I will leave you the name of one of my favorite latest Netflix series, just in case if you like some sort of "Ghost Stories ;)

"Haunting of Bly Manor" the story worths being watched. It is the only horror story, that made me cry, cry and question a lot of things at the same time. It blew me off my reality, second half shook me real good, seeing the world through different lenses.

Jamie (Amelia Eve), that wonderful actress, the performance, hope and change.

If you can't feel anything, then I'll feel everything for the both of us.

and every other character, mercy and faith, love and betrayal, the spine-chilling truths that lies in their dialogs that we can't always accept...

All of them represents some parts of each of us, our stories, some forgotten, some to be told...

<3 Eda S.