I feel it now. The ghosts of people who still exist, but shouldn't.
Mistakes never fixed, paths never crossed. 
People who once should have felt familiar and warm still feel distant.
Artificial fragments of what should have been, what's going to be.
Broken people. Ghosts, living on and on seemingly without end, casting their shadows over me.
And I wash these quivering hands, and everything that has ever meant anything to me.​