Ghosts
We haunt these streets, you and I,
Ghosts, but we’re not dead.
I saw us yesterday
Outside our restaurant, kissing
Your hands pressed into the small of
my back
Not caring about the cold.
A girl in chef’s whites leant
against the brick wall, her hands cupping a cigarette
Its hot tip turned in towards her
palm, not seeing.
Only I watched us.
Standing there in the dark
Only I see us clearly, for what we
were.
What we still are.
Spectres. Repeating the same actions.
Caught in a loop.
Suspended in time.
Before we were strangers
Before.
from pinterest.com
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