Dear ghost,
Let me carve this memories while it is still raw. I can taste the feeling even as I lay on my bed. It was in the middle of the streets; I could hear the music playing in the background. The blue sky with mushy cloud getting ready for the sun set. And cars being led by the man in white gloves. People were staring from every corner. Because we were in the middle, waiting for them. Those curious eyes fascinated by the men in gloves would once in a while spare a glance to us. But we were just waiting for them.
When they came, they came with the roaring sound of their engines. In suits, they rode and gently quaked our mechanic heart.
Few had ladies at their back and few would curtly nodd at me. But I was there, as they brushed the wind with their speed. I saw it. And they saw me.
But I will never meet him.
Yours.