Left idly standing on a fairly lit junction
As the count for the crosswalk ticks
I, again, met the ghost of my olden days

Dread woven into that familiar scent
As I look back to that certain someone
Hope met disappointment in my eyes

It was unfortunate our paths crossed
Since even years after you fatedly left
Pieces of your ghost littered this city

'Pieces that I perceive now just peripherally'

Before the crosswalk inevitably tick red
I turned and proceeded to the other side
Mentally bracing myself, to meet your ghost—

In every crosswalk of my life, now on