Dysfunctional Families, Murder, and Dead People.

Shibuya Train Station

I waited at the train station
like every night before,
for you to run your dried fingers
through my warm coat,
to greet me with your eyes
sinking further into your skull,
layers of sponge-like skin
beneath an opaque top hat,
and a voice fading like a candlelight.
I remember how we used to walk,
my outline overwhelmed
by your large shadow
as it limped along on a wooden cane.
One night you couldn't speak at all,
but simply touched me
with your raisin-like hands,
and in your cigarette stained trench coat,
embraced me
in the dim light of the train station.
I see many faces now,
silhouettes against the stained sky
but never yours,
not anymore.

-Based off a news story about a Tokyo professor and his Akita.