What was it I came here looking for,

the opportunity to seek redemption,

for reaching Middle-Age with some resemblance

to passing, fading youth still intact,

before, like dust that gets lodged in the corner

of the eye, that sticks determined to the vestige

of the previous day, it is dislodged

and flicked casually without

a second glance

into the awaiting gutter on the street.

 

I once came here looking for ghosts,

I came here for a memory of you,

the sweet taste of bitter regret,

of too many drinks

numbing the pain

and yet the ghosts multiply

and you my dear, beautiful friend

are lost in time to me.

 

All is silent

in the closed off whimsy,

all is remembered in the bags

under the eyes, the long grey hair,

the small, trivial but subtle appearance

of lines around the eyes

that still blaze with the anger of my youth

but are resigned to living in mist

of twenty thousand lost days,

I came here for you,

to breathe in the air of the considerable

and the noteworthy,

for nothing that happened in this place

should ever be thought of

as insignificant…

 

I came here looking

for you.