I saw Ada, In New York. I hit her up, and she wanted to meet up for breakfast.
The next morning:
She had on slate shorts, a ruffling, loose white t, And chucks falling apart at the seams in scythes of fabric.
Her hair bobbles as she bounces over. It's so frizzy and curly as if it’s been through electroshock.
She gives me a hug and as she pulls away her lips hit my cheek.
A grey pigeon lands in my sight behind her and pushes a white **** out onto a starbucks lid.
The best thing Is seeing exes that you haven’t talked to or seen in awhile; and hearing them talk about the great things they’ve done In your time apart.
It’s almost as if I was right there with Ada when she was experiencing her new love of Brooklyn.
I am A ghost in her life, And in that piece of my heart That misses her, I like the feeling of being as free as a spectre; an unobtrusive observer.