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.