4 october 2015*

Inhale.
I hold the smoke in my lungs.
One. Two. Three. Just as you taught me.
To think;
I’ve never even thought about a cigarette
untill I met you.
The januari night is piercing cold,
my hands tremble as I bury my head in them.
The moon turns my pale skin blue.
Exhale.

Listen,
I am not crazy,
though two strangers are not meant
to yearn like we do.
I do.

Listen,
maybe I am crazy,
though I have never been before,
not;
untill I met you.

Inhale.
I know you are drunk right now,
or leaned over a toilet lid
with rolled up money between your fingers.
So I am not in my bed,
but here,
with a cigarette between mine.
Exhale.