My endless stares are directed towards the chair that you once let your bones go limp in.

The chair where you’d flick that nasty cigarette.

Just a tap was all it took. Rid of what was burnt by the power of your lungs breathing fire, you begin again. Breathing in and upon release diminishing the stress that burdened your day.

Un phased that you were actively subtracting 7 minutes of your life. You seemed to have no worries.

Those perfectly poised lips that I once admired crack open upon demand and release wispy clouds.

One of the most genuine laughs escapes through the smoke, and I’m reminded yet again of what my life lacks.

I wish I had known to savor the smallest joys in my life. Just being able to witness the twinkle in your eye would have been enough. Then again, hearing your rhythmic breaths perfectly timed would have been more than sufficient.

I held onto your laugh longer than I should have, and still allow my aching soul to read the letters you wrote.

She is not me, and maybe that’s what you like. She doesn’t seem to care just like the rest of those in your life. I did care and here I am. Swooning. Hurting. Writing words full of pain that you may never allow your eyes to cross. Then again you are free of all worries, especially me.