Why should I try to find that street?

Where nothing is
and
nothing will be.
A residue of you.
Proof you still exist,
these years later.

In my mind you don't,
except as you were
the last time I saw you.
Or maybe the last

before that.


A better time
Or a worse,
really.


The children play.
Life goes on as if, as if
nothing
ever happened.

Then again,
it IS true.
Nothing ever happened.

Was I ever so young?
I'm sure you were.
But of me, I doubt.

I think

Perhaps


I was born old.


I have ceased to exist,
as though I could pretend
I ever really did.