You are still searching.
The person that left one
Dark winter morning.
Leaving you asleep
Hair framing the oval face
With fluttering eyes, brown lens.
Long time. Not for you.
Meanwhile, the old town changed into a bloated city,
Like an awkward teen, into a dysfunctional adult, wide girth.
Leafy lanes turned into the irregular chain of mid-rises, lower floors full of shops.
In the 1990s, the obese city, into a huge bazaar.
Selling selling selling!
We all have grayed meantime, eyes blank, hearts calcified.
That curving lower lip
Even a hint in the voice
Trying to find that in this.
I do not know who I have become now.
Some ghost refusing to flee a fevered mind
Residing within a host body
Or a real-time me?