Window Ghost

The dusty pane, a smear of street,

reflects me, but not quite complete.

A ghost self, caught in fading light,

another version, black and white.

She wears my coat, but shoulders slump,

a heavier load, a deeper hump.

Her eyes, they hold a different fear,

a path I swerved from, drawing near.

For just a moment, I could swear,

she knows the choices I don't share.

A silent twin, a whispered plea,

the person I could never be.

Then the bus goes past, a sudden blur,

and she is gone, a fading stir.

Just me again, the same old face,

alone within this lonely place.