Incomplete. pt. 1
The sky is getting grey, and threatening to rain. I light my cigarette, and take a drag. Inhale. Exhale. Deep breathing for the underclass. I try to imagine the beach. The ocean. One thousand miles to Santa Cruz. One thousand miles away from her. I try to remember her name, but I dont really want to. Its better that way. The wind is becoming frigid. I thought the warm days would never end. I thought we would always be at the ocean. I thought that I would grow old serenely, without a care. Now I find that my grey hair just reminds me how red her hair was.