We haunt these streets, you and me,
Ghosts, but we’re not dead.
I saw us
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

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