I really miss my Andy.
Perhaps not even the man anymore.
But the hope.
The inspiration I found upon meeting him.
Now I feel like I'm trying to find
a ghost most times
Or something to believe in
Or my way back home
Thinking back the years to the time I last remember
Breathing
Not just any breathing. Fresh deep air and full chest
Breathing
October winds, and conversations with dead people.
Living.
Photos of unmarked headstones in old graveyards
Living.
Each breath now is just that much closer to death.
I hope to find my Andy soon, the old one , a new one, doesn't matter I guess.
Any Andy to breathe the life back into my soul will do.