I never thought of this as a possibility.  I walked from Union Square to Grand Central Station and memories flooded, memories like a torrent.  Strolls through the park, walks down Park.  Meatballs, pints, laughs, looks.  I drank my beer, raising my glass to my lips while casting my eyes down.  I took a sip and slowly glanced up.

Entry ways and exits.  Subway stairs going down.  Steps at 101 Park where we talked about boys, about men, smoking until twilight turned to black.  Unsure of where to go, we circled the block and ran smack into a lie.  Steps at 101 Park where I cried in public because I felt so utterly alone in a city of so many millions.

Sushi evenings and Malbec wine.  First dates and bad first kisses.  Tangy sauces and stolen glances that I knew were going somewhere. I walk these streets, I face these ghosts.  It’s a strange nostalgia for a life I’m still living.

I’m haunted by these memories and I find I’m haunted by the future.  Ghosts of possibility future, phantoms of a life I’m sure I’ll never live.  Yet, we’ve walked this park, and perhaps we’d walk it still.

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