I was in there somewhere.
In your decade.
In 2012, I turned around.
And there you were.
From rooftops.
To stairwells.
Song songs.
And revolving doors.
I hope I don't die.
Like Dylan Thomas.
Before Brooklyn.
Anybody's guess.
Ten years is a generation.
Life is for living.
Not stalling.
Love is for trying.
Not yawning.
Edits in yellow.
Quiet in smiles.
A ghost is just me in a sheet.
One day.
We will be 85.
And hopefully still alive.