And I am writing again.
It’s been long. But the words are all around. They are like fireflies to me, forcing me to
entrap them on this white sheet.
There’s this little something I want to say, something I
feel, every single time we walk away, and every single time we meet.
Do you want to know the most beautiful time of my day?
It’s when I light a cigarette to exhale all the thoughts
that come my way. The thoughts both old
and new. They are the thoughts of you.
I stare at the watch, time and again. Its time for us to
meet.
And finally when the numbers appear, I light a cigarette, to
prepare, to bear.
Do you know that my heart jumps every time you look at my
face?
Ah, my heart clenches so tight, so I light a cigarette and
do away with the fight.
Have you seen how I fumble when you seek an answer to my
most obvious reactions?
Do I Owe you an answer? I light a cigarette again and then
smirk at your lack of attention.
The curls on the bed, the warmth of the sheet, the messy
clothes and the tangled bodies,
The love me make is a love that will break, so I light a
cigarette again, roll over, and smoke away, just smoke it all away.
Its time for you to go. The door opens, the air rushes in,
slaps me on the face, reminds me of our last embrace,
The door shuts, the cigarette is lit. Our love is such a
mis’fuckin ‘fit.
The day is done. The lights go out. The blankets become a
pile again.
The thoughts of you rush in. The lips are enticed by a
cigarette again.
What am I to you? I always wonder. Is it love? Or a four
letter blunder..?
Maybe I am to you what a cigarette is to me. A savior. A
distraction. A comfort. An attraction. A cage. A high. A power. A sigh.
And the words vanish, the fireflies die, the sheet goes blank
and wet.
The night is dark, I light a smoke, right when you call and
ask me to quit.
