His hands balanced on the windowsill stained with the tobacco in his finger tips and caressed by the fleeting smoke. He was shaking, and I could do nothing. No hold that I give him is adequate- for he is not here, neither there.
I long to pull him with me, as he drags at the smoke but I know there is no use. He is too far away. There are raindrops between our bodies but oceans between our minds and I cannot swim that far.
Every time the smoke leaves his lungs I gasp for it, every breath he takes fills my lungs with water. How does he breathe so clearly whilst I am left to drown? How does his ruination hold more life than the hands I reach to him with?
I yearn for his hesitant touch as he puts out his cigarette but almost instantly, he is distracted. I lose him to the hallucinogen of reality.