Analepsis

There's something almost nostalgic about muffled footsteps on damp cement;
padding softly down dimly lit sidewalks and across decrepit curbs choked with ivy.

A thin smoke screen of exhausted rain clouds crawls across the dark
horizon and becomes a final resting place for the
remnants of my cigarette.

I find myself drifting down abandoned
streets and vacant lots-

a ghost.

And I'm haunted by a town full of sentiments and streetlights.