Some Ghosts Don’t Wait to Die

Some people break your heart before you ever meet them.

I missed him by decades.
But some men echo louder than memory.

Jim Morrison was one of the first ghosts I let in willingly.
Not through a poster or a playlist—but through the cracks in my own chest.
Before Zappa taught me irreverence, Jim taught me how to ache like it meant something.

I’m listening to Hyacinth House while I write this.
Not the hits. Not the firestarter anthems.
Just this strange, delicate confession buried at the end of L.A. Woman.
No one screams on this one. There’s no riot.
Just a man pacing a mental hallway he can’t seem to exit.
A voice on the edge of giving up—not on life, but on letting anyone in again.

“I need a brand new friend who doesn’t trouble me…”

And I hear it.
That hunger behind the apathy.
That ache hiding inside the shrug.

I don’t idolize him. That would be lazy.
I just… recognize something.
A kinship.
Like I would've been the one sitting beside him at 3AM,
ashtray full, the tape still rolling,
when he finally said what he really meant.
Not the show. Not the seduction.
The scar.

I would've told him—you don’t have to keep breaking yourself open just to prove there’s something inside.
Maybe he would've laughed.
Maybe he would've listened.

There’s a sadness in the way he told the truth—like he wanted to be wrong, but never was.
That’s what gets me. Not the leather or the rebellion. The accuracy.

He didn’t want to make the mistakes he made.
But that’s what made him him.
And without him—I might’ve never let my own darkness speak.

He lived fast, yeah. But more than that—he lived dense.
Years collapsed on themselves.
Every decision felt like it was made with one hand on the mic and the other reaching for someone who’d already walked away.

Sometimes I wonder what would've happened if he lasted just one more decade.
Would he have softened?
Would he have disappeared?
Would he have forgiven himself?

So yeah. I never met him.

But we were friends in his life.

Or maybe I just wish we were.

// Scorpio Veil

For the ones who sang from the wound, trusted the silence, and never learned to lie to the tape recorder.
This is for the ones who didn’t want the world—
just someone who wouldn’t need them so loudly.