They come at night.
20 years later and still they come. Memories or ghosts? I'm not quite sure. Friends long departed, places long deceased. They come and I go, and wander, and want. I know I don't belong, each moment makes that more acute. This is just a dream, I say, incredibly without breaking the spell. Dream or nightmare, I'm not sure.
They remain the same, untouched by time. I shrivel and expand, like a corpse in the sun. Gaseous decay bloats out, leather and dust shrivel in.
I try to play but they'll have none of me. They know there is something wrong. I'm not right. I'm not one of them anymore. Was I ever? Memories decay like skin.
Memory or ghost? I'm not quite sure. Dream or nightmare, I'm not sure. Did I say that? Or did they?
I watch and I wish. Wish -- that I could turn back time -- wish that I could join them -- wish that if only for once I could make up for past foolishness -- Dear God, please! Please just let me do it again! I know now! I know! I...
...listen to heavens that are as quiet as this room.
I go to them at night. Trying to appease my soul, make it all right. I wander. Shade from the past? Shade from the future? They'll have none of me. My past rejects me, vomits me a distasteful present.
My dear friends! My dear, dear friends! If only... If only...
They come at night. And I go. And I cry.