I've seen countless people, watched them in an envy for a few moments, and moved on. But she was different, I didn't want to just move on, I wanted to know her. I was instantly infatuated. Watching her, studying her as she swept her dark hair from her face. She was writing or perhaps drawing but periodically she'd cast a thoughtful look through the window. For one brief moment, Her deep brown eyes seemed to catch ahold of mine as if we both exchanged a meaningful glance. Knowing deep down that it was impossible crept into that one peaceful moment that I had. The one small moment when I forgot that I was dead. The reminder that I could never be more to her than a breeze brought me back to my senses. I think it best to just keep moving on just like I had so many times before. I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Cain Harmon and I lived in or around 1915; I know this because I have some memories that match that time frame. Like when Babe Ruth had his first career home run. Fortunately, I can't remember much about how I died but it was unexpected and I'm pretty sure it involved a train, which at the time captivated me. Much like I'm captivated at this moment. I was drawn to them, drawn to their power and speed. Bits and pieces come back to me from time to time like small pieces to a giant jigsaw puzzle. The first thing I remember after my death was a small blue light that slowly begun to grow larger; then I ran. I have ideas of where the light would take me but the not knowing, no pun intended, kills me. So I stay with what I know, day in and day out, I wonder and watch. I haven't changed at all in the 104 years since my death, I was 25 impulsive and maybe a tad reckless. Time hasn't affected me. I can take on a few different appearances but nothing too drastic. I'm typically 6'1 but have the ability to be smaller. I can be seen by the living as fog or in dreams and felt through the wind. sometimes but not often I can cause warmth. It is taken me some time to be content in my situation. I'm by no means happy but I am content. I wouldn't mind the absence of happiness so much had it not been replaced with the absolute dark heaviness of being completely and helplessly alone...F**k it! I was decided, I would forget about this girl at the cafe, but could I? Is it possible for me to be strong enough to move on from the one thing that's made me feel a spark of life? Kind of ironic that I'm feeling haunted by someone, isn't it? Standing here arguing with myself on whether I should move on or continue to admire her while she drums her nails against her coffee cup in an almost impatient manner, I realize something about this situation is reminding me of another time, a time I was living and longing for something as I am right now. (except the living part)I remember I was with my dad! My dad haha he was short compared to me. He came to my chin but his personality was enormous. I remember it so clearly now. Standing there together my dad and I, waiting for the salesman to approach us. we were purchasing a car. I remember how he didn't flinch at the thought of putting much of his savings and all of mine for that matter towards the purchase of a baby grand corvette. My dream car. I close my eyes trying to remember everything about that moment with him,but memories are like snowflakes, soon after grabbing hold of them, they melt. For a second, I could almost hear him laugh again. As I stood there lost in that memory, I felt impulsive, and at that moment something ignited within me. I had to know her. Even though she'd never know me, maybe she could know my presence. I step forward and thought to myself

"you can do this ole boy get your sh**t together."

before I know it I'm sitting across from her. She's so much more perfect up close, her bottom lip is a bit fuller than the top one, and seems to be naturally pink in color, her hair is thick with a soft wave.

"hello. I'm Cain" I say to her, almost breathless and completely aware she couldn't hear me.

She drew her light grey cardigan closer to her neck as if a chill was suddenly upon her. I squinted my eyes and couldn't help feeling sad once I made the connection, I was the chill that was upon her. she looked up from her final sip of coffee and even though I knew she was staring at the door behind me, it was nice to pretend for a second, that she was looking back at me instead of thorough me. She spun the coffee cup in a moment of finality. Just then I caught her name written in bold letters on the cup. Nora. I felt half of my mouth draw a smile as I said "hello Nora" at that moment she collected her belongings and stood to leave. At this point I'm panicked, but a snap discussion had me fully prepared and committed to making myself as known as possible. The panic comes from not knowing how I was to achieve this. She opens the door to the cafe and leaves. the jingle from the small bell on the door was like a gate bell at the track. The race was on. walking down the pavement I think it's only appropriate that I walk beside her. Her tight pencil skirt hugged her legs and the sound of her heels against the sidewalk was hypnotic. We walked together side by side, my hands tucked into my pockets. The same pockets I've worn for over a century. we came to a small art shop. The sign above the door read

"gracefully Nora"

We stepped inside and my eyes were immediately drawn to small paintings on full display, colors of pastels and earthy tones danced on canvases and were framed modestly. Nora was cheerfully greeted by a tall thin woman, I'm guessing she's in her mid-thirties. guessing people's ages has been an odd hobby of mine, I'd like to think I'm pretty good at it.

"Hello, Nora! Have you finished any paintings ?" She asked excitedly.

Nora smiled and said

"hello, grace! I'm still waiting on my shipment of new paints, I'm hoping I'll have them ready to set up in the next few days."

grace seemed to be understanding and the two women carried on talking for a few more moments then said their goodbyes. With that, we were off walking again, and now I know, Nora is an artist, and judging by the sign above the door she's also a business owner. While we're walking I'm telling her about myself as if she can hear me. I tell her I think I use to play the piano, and how if it's quiet enough I can still hear the keys playing the song "let me call you sweetheart". I told her about my dad, and how he loved cigars. Literally, every occasion was a cigar occasion for my dad. I told her how much I hated the smell of those damned cigars, but now, I cherish the sent. I confessed that I use to sit at the bus stop not too far from here. Every morning at 9, there was an older gentleman who smoked a cigar while waiting for his lift. I would sit there with him, smelling his cigar and reliving memories from long ago. Every now and again Nora would smile, maybe at a stranger passing by or maybe something inside her knew I was there.