Whispers and shadow.
The cold scurry of ghosts.
A thousand empty midnights,
A thousand dawns
That couldn't come soon
enough.
No solace for the losses.
No balm for the invisible
wounds.
Time is a bitch.
Moments that move slowly,
Slowed by the weight of
ghosts.
The weight of whispers and
shadow.
Whispers and shadow.
Shadow of a Man in Paris with Paper and Briefcase -- Warren Keating
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