2005-03-31
I have no problem with knowing I will probably never rid myself of you completely. Over the silent years you have mutated from being someone vivid - very vivid - to entering my collection of ghosts.

Your ghost still lives in your street, your bar and your park. Your ghost walks next to me whenever I hear that particular song, your ghost and I go through the same conversations, time after time. We sort it out. Over and over again.

I know you are someone very different from my ghost of you, and it sometimes catches me off guard. Today you would have a hard time accepting who I've become, but you could never suspect the size of my disappointment in what you became.

It's spring. The sun paints the city lighter. Your ghost and I return to the park.