Tonight at the coffee shop a girl walked in who looked so uncannily like one I used to know, who has been dead for around a decade, that I stopped mid-sentence and had to shake my head to bring it back to reality.

And it’s weird.

That I know people who are dead.

That I came so close to being one of them.  That I wouldn’t be writing in this particular location if I had.  (or any, I suppose).

She was beautiful and dark, pierced and troubled, and in the end the drugs took her like they have almost everyone else I’ve known.  Drugs or suicide’s the way to go

if you’ve known me.

My mind set to reminisce mode again, after.  I think of old friends, living and gone, who’ve lost touch.  People who once were my world and now don’t exist in any meaningful way to me.

And I find it so sad.

The way things turn out.

Where we land, after the youth fades and the party slows; when lives become more important than living and days blur into years–but not from fun, or excess…rather..

from that ugly fucking abomination of a sentence I mostly finished above.