i talk to old ghosts
who have changed their bodies.
they look at me
and ask with their eyes
"how have you been?
what have you been doing?"

and im speechless.
glued to the chair.
ive filled up with smoke.

"i have no idea.
i really couldnt tell you."

the past 8 years.
theyre not real anymore.
i wouldve given up my life
for so many moments
but now cant remember
who i was
or who i was with
or who i loved
or what was so funny.

the past 8 years
were a thundercloud
and rained down
each hydrating moment
and i look back
and all the puddles have dried
without the courtesy
of heat waves
at the end of the road
and everyone stays inside
because its too hot now.

soon the ghost will leave
and ill be a mirage
talking to myself
in the city.