I can’t drive down Main Street

Without passing our shadows.

Fragmented figures of fiction

Who carry on carelessly,

Tripping over their ignorance,

Forgetting to be wary of time,

Thinking they will run readily

Into the past - soon enough.

Instead, they linger - lively and luminous,

Leering and choking on their laughter,

While I gaze on longingly,

Wishing to steal their moments away.

And to be so naive as to believe

That I could disappear so easily,

Without a drive-by memory

Of the apparition of me I used to be.