Alone

ghosts of passing cars, flaky and white in
soundwaves uninvited to a melancholy willing
to remain like all the wrong memories that
litter the floor with half-empty coffee cups,
and silence creeping about with bony fingers
that used to be kind, but remembering is
always off by just enough to guarantee
life will never live twice, and i can never
pretend away the vestiges of years like
suitcases perhaps never meant.

---
words: Bethany Basset (coffee-stained clarity)
image: Dorothee Lang (virtual notes)