I walked down a street of the city and remembered being there before.
What I wore, who I was with, and what we'd done.
A denim skirt with studs down the sides. Black boots with heels. An old boyfriend.
A scary movie. The liquor store.
Another day, an encounter in that very starbucks.
How I reacted. What I was reading.
Flashing a phony engagement ring to the man trying to talk to me while reading the play, "Prelude to a Kiss". It's summer. I live in Brooklyn. I'm not sure if I'm happy. I'm in my final weeks of my relationship, but I don't know it yet.
But it's now the time I walked to meet a friend at The Public.
My pink coat. My short hair. My brown boots.
Back to the starbucks.
Stopping in a vintage store to look at that jacket for my husband.
Ghosts of myself all over the city.
A few days later, a run in the park. I ran past an old man. He smelled familiar.
His familiarity hit me that myself and everyone I know has limited time this lifetime.
I will be eighty.
I'll be moving slow through the park and a previous version of me will run by.
My old ghosts exist with my future ghosts and me, presently.