I stand there, all alone, except for my thoughts.
I wait for a companion who will never return to my side, who has left me for a brighter sky.
I never expect a reply to any of the letters I send, for I am dead to them and them dead to me.
I want nothing more than to return to how life was before, having someone to rely on.
I am in a trouble that I can not find a way out of, nor can I narrow it down.
I see the ships passing in the harbor, steam and smoke bellowing, clouding the air.
I hear the cries of the market people, the hustle and bustle, the shouts and pouts.
I smell the foul stench of this city and wish I wasn't alone in cleaning it.
I can almost taste the mixtures, the foulness of the smoke and the fairness of the clean air.
And I watch my timepiece, the hands rolling around, as time passes by.