Sitting silently, I look across the soaken street. I see myself just looking back at me as though I were a ghost. What could this mean? I do not think things like this are real. I wave my hand and it just frowns and mouths words to me.
Sometimes It feels like life is a memory, an unlit gallery, you see what you want to see. Everywhere I go I feel it's always there. It's nothing I can ever bear, I'll just have to think it through.
