why complain about white people writing poems about love and cigarettes when you know that nicotine takes the pain away and the smoke masks the smell of him left on your clothes from the painful just friends hug he gave you. Because I don't care about people's opinions who don't matter when the only thing that does is in my heart but not my arms because he wanted his freedom more than he wanted me. But the sadness in his gestures and the dullness in his eyes make it harder to concentrate during the day because you're too busy worried about him to worry about life when all you want to do is replace the sadness inside him with your love, but the realization that you can't anymore crushes you almost as much as his sadness does. But you don't forget to remind him everyday how much he matters and when he tells you he wants to drop out of school and not go to college or get a job, you're itching to tell him now much he is the boy version of you but know you he won't care, and he won't listen. And maybe thats what the cigarette you keep in your purse is for. Because you love him.