(no subject)
The walk down the street was a short one, but far enough away to keep my dirty habit a secret. I lit up my cigarette in peace, and was glad to be able to.
I was looking at the house across the street. The windows aligned with the ground and seemed to smile at me. The night atmosphere brought a peaceful aura to the world, but it was nighttime, so naturally I was falling again into depression. I thought of her face, of her smile, of all of her mannerisms that drove me to love her more than anyone before. I thought of the cigarette in my hand and realized the reason for my habit. I was smoking because it reminded me of her every time. From the beginning of the pack when I flip two luckies, one for me and one for her; to the end of the pack, littered with ones half smoked. From the beginning of the cigarette to the end, when I extinguish the ember like she always did.
The cigarettes reminded me of all the nights we spent together, holding each other close, fearing the wrath of the chaperones. All the nights when you stopped breathing, panicking because of a stressful day. All the nights when I tried so hard to please you but was only able to sometimes. And that night when we fell asleep together, when we almost got into an incredible amount of trouble if it hadn’t been for that hypocritical bitch.
The cigarettes reminded me of the days we spent barely trying to be discreet. The days when we sat together out front, smoking, learning, seeing, talking, feeling. The days when we loved each other, the days when we hated each other. And that one day, that one perfect day when we went to the theater and fell in love all over again.
By now my cigarette has been smothered. I’m just sitting on the asphalt now, scared shitless. Scared because as the days pass by, I begin to become a memory. As the days pass, I begin to become a ghost. Scared because she said she’d always love me, but I can’t be sure that it’s still true. I’m scared because I want to spend the rest of my life with her, and I’m scared because I don’t know if that’s normal.
Without her I’m only half a person. Without her I am incomplete. Without her I am lost and I am lonely and I am scared. All I can do is hope, and all I can do is remember. That is why I smoked that cigarette, That’s why I am addicted. Because I’d rather die than ever forget your memory.
I was looking at the house across the street. The windows aligned with the ground and seemed to smile at me. The night atmosphere brought a peaceful aura to the world, but it was nighttime, so naturally I was falling again into depression. I thought of her face, of her smile, of all of her mannerisms that drove me to love her more than anyone before. I thought of the cigarette in my hand and realized the reason for my habit. I was smoking because it reminded me of her every time. From the beginning of the pack when I flip two luckies, one for me and one for her; to the end of the pack, littered with ones half smoked. From the beginning of the cigarette to the end, when I extinguish the ember like she always did.
The cigarettes reminded me of all the nights we spent together, holding each other close, fearing the wrath of the chaperones. All the nights when you stopped breathing, panicking because of a stressful day. All the nights when I tried so hard to please you but was only able to sometimes. And that night when we fell asleep together, when we almost got into an incredible amount of trouble if it hadn’t been for that hypocritical bitch.
The cigarettes reminded me of the days we spent barely trying to be discreet. The days when we sat together out front, smoking, learning, seeing, talking, feeling. The days when we loved each other, the days when we hated each other. And that one day, that one perfect day when we went to the theater and fell in love all over again.
By now my cigarette has been smothered. I’m just sitting on the asphalt now, scared shitless. Scared because as the days pass by, I begin to become a memory. As the days pass, I begin to become a ghost. Scared because she said she’d always love me, but I can’t be sure that it’s still true. I’m scared because I want to spend the rest of my life with her, and I’m scared because I don’t know if that’s normal.
Without her I’m only half a person. Without her I am incomplete. Without her I am lost and I am lonely and I am scared. All I can do is hope, and all I can do is remember. That is why I smoked that cigarette, That’s why I am addicted. Because I’d rather die than ever forget your memory.