It's the ghosts, by cracky. It's the ghosts. They've sung to me for most of my life. They sing to me today.
Now I hear them all. When I read back over the years, I realize that I spent a good deal of time in the weeds. People who were never major players in my life moved in to keep me going and, for that, I will be forever grateful.
Rock break scissors. Paper covers rock. Joy trumps depression.