All the time. It could be midnight with orange neon blinking in the windows. Maybe morning when the sun kisses the cactus. Or evening, watching reports on war and famine with a feel-good story at the end. These hours go by.

Years can not erase thoughts or memories. Pictures are always there in the mind. Where are you now? We are no longer in Chicago or New York. Not in Los Angeles chasing dreams. Nor are we in Montpelier or Montreal. Watching autumn set in. Rain on leaves. Rust drips.

Older now. The body hurts. Breath is short. Looking at lovers strolling  in the park past streams and waterfalls. Thought I saw your ghost standing by the cherry trees whose flowers have fallen to the ground. Was I mistaken? Are you haunting me?

All the time. Days wasted. Nights of unrest. Because of you.