Ghosting

Oh, injured bird. To steal your words, what am I going to do with you?
Has it really been so long for us?
Sometimes I wish I could rewind back to that night, when it all started. Quite a long saga in the end, but it played out a tragedy. But I still miss you, and the times you came to perch next to me. Sometimes you still try, and that makes me sad, because I still want to be the place you land. But it's nothing but a fleeting touch. Some passing ghost in shimmering ectoplasm passing me by on the sidewalk. Aimlessly haunting, and echoing conversations of long ago.

Husk.

He leans against the wall, feet crossed, and he's getting her number. I try to find some fault in her, but it's not even jealously. Just suppressed curiosity I guess. She's blonde and pretty. I quickly look down, like an unwilling witness to something I'm better off not seeing. I see her shoes and think, I used to wear expensive heels like that. So many things now only used to be.
On some level I really think it would be so easy for me to go full Type A. Perfect perfect perfect. I'm highly critical of myself and that's probably a fault...or maybe some leftover piece of my childhood, festering under the surface. It's actually really hard to explain. It's not that I want him, or don't want her to have him. I think I just miss someone looking at me like that. With interest, and awkward butterflies. Does that make me needy? Probably. Me the dry old husk.