Your words flow so sickeningly sweet from your lips to my ears full of subtle comfort of promises that will never be fulfilled. Of how you no longer get goosebumps every time you hear her angelic voice begin to sing a song that once belonged to the two of you. Or how you no longer crave cigarettes simply because they remind you of the taste her lips had provided. Yet, I remember the first time I saw you light up that black and mild of yours knowing that it wasn't the only thing you were addicted to. That behind your want to light up there was an underlining want for her.  But how could I blame you for being in love with the constellations in the sky after creating your own out of the freckles on her body? How could I blame you for wanting to stay in heaven after experiencing an angel?