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.