Puddles of light are gathering under the street lamps.
If it were raining I wouldn't mind not being able to see the stars.
I'll just stare at the cracks in my driveway instead,
Or lay back on the hood of the car,
And watch the way my cigarette smoke dances in the air.
It's almost beautiful.

I'll remember times I had someone's hand to hold.
Music would be coming from the stereo.
He might even ask me to dance.
But back then, I never would have had smoke in my lungs.

I'll remember the nights it was really too cold to be outside,
So he would move a little closer,
And we would let sin keep us warm.
But back then, I never would have missed the stars.

I'll remember the times I never made it out of the car.
The conversation was too captivating,
His lips were too welcoming.
But back then, I never would have noticed the cracks in anything.

Now,
I'll light another cigarette,
Pretend I could splash around in the puddles of light under the street lamps,
Watch it glisten and fade into the cracks in my driveway.
Then, lay back on the hood of the car,
And watch the way the end of my cigarette burns hotter than any of the other flames I thought about tonight,
Still, it burns out just as quickly.
It's almost beautiful.