I walk these streets
That we once shared
Through neon’s glow
Window shop curiosities
Remind me
What it is
I’m looking for
As others pass by
To become the ghosts
They were meant to be
The beggars and thieves
With outstretched hands
But that wasn’t you
Or me
We were different then
Or so, I believed
I still walk these streets
The ghosts rush by
Going somewhere, nowhere
While I stand in between
What’s meant to be
Waiting for a glimpse
A touch
Of the thing
We used to be

Click here if you would like to pre-order my new collection of short stories.