This is your city. It belongs to a government, run by a state, but it’s yours. It’s yours because you are everywhere in it. There’s no place I can go without seeing you there. From any vantage point I’m at, in my car, walking on the sidewalk, looking out of a building, I see you. You are walking into that shop, parked in the 5th space back, wearing your jacket because it’s winter, though I see you in summer. We once sat on that bench, talking about nothing, and I see you on it again though a hobo sleeps there for now. Your ghost walks along these streets, as clear as if you were actually there though only I can see you. I can’t escape it because you’ve been everywhere, and I was there with you. Now that you’re gone, it’s all I have. A hallucination of the past. A mirage in this concrete desert. This is your city, and I live in it.