Lost spirits

 

This post is very private. Only one other person in the world would recognize it but I doubt ****** is reading.

 

 

 

 

 

 

What we leave behind, cloaked in cold concrete angles.

 

We touched, we lurked, we danced. Long after we left, long after we dissolved, long after our laughter died.
Long after.

 

In the days, month, years…does stone contain remnants of our souls? We walk away, we leave behind, and live and argue and love and hate and that stone stays behind, fixed against the emotional elements of time.
Ghosts.

 

The life force we once brought, the disruption in the cold night our warm bodies tendered to the cold monotony of the stone, the concrete, and clouded its infinite view of the sky.

 

Did its coldness utter a warm wisp of delight as we decorated this forlorn spot with our boundless and blind optimism. We had hope and it spurred us on. Did it remain, that flickering sense of hope, fighting the persistent breeze of our dawning fortune? Did we leave the weakening embers?

 

Does the stone recall that warm moment we visited before leaving it forever and before we cast the possibility of ever returning to the dead embers of eternity?

 

Those memories torment, rage like a fire in my soul.
The memories, the faintest inklings of our residual embrace…do they still carry the weakest and most minute ounce of warmth to comfort the cold stone’s lonely despair?

 

Where do our forgotten souls linger, and do our ghosts, murmurs of the past, still dance upon the hardened soul of the stone?