The hour wanes like a daytime moon unseen. Raindrops drip brought by monsoon winds. Is that thunder or a plane? Do I miss you, or am I insane? All I know is that I am haunted. My mind teems with memories of species extinct, your ghosts undead. The truth is that I am haunted. If my brain bleeds and the blood pours from my arteries, my veins, will I find your bones? It is just that I am haunted. A flash of white, a pain in the hand, a whizzing machine, all belong to a future I have now lost. And it is because of this that I am haunted. Do I regret, or simply forget that it was my choice to flee, that your ghosts are withdrawal symptoms from a dream (a disease) I once had of mirrors catching the light, of teeth perfectly aligned?