Temporarily falling
     in love
     with strangers
     is my greatest
     talent.
     I sit in
     cafes
     and I write
     love letters
     that I will never send
     on coffee stained
     paper.
     Cigarette smoke
     drifts up from
     an ashtray
     and dances around
     my fingers
     as I jot down
     kind words
     that have never left
     my bitter mouth.
     And though
     my words may
     be truthful
     they feel like
     sweet lies
    dripping from my pen.
    The ink is a mix
    of loving words
    and the raw stinging
    truth.
    It spills on my papers
    and makes a mess of my thoughts.
    And then I stop
    and take a breath
    and look around
    only to realize that everyone
    I loved is gone.