I keep myself busy
so I won’t have the slightest chance
to let you
occupy my mind.
It was a cold night
when I left you.
And it was on a colder night still
that I decided to let you go.
The cigarette in my fingers
is a metaphor
of a memory I’d soon forget.
It is precisely
because we reminisce
that we seek
ephemeral company.
We let the past back in,
we allow ourselves to feel,
and we let it end.
It costs a piece of our lives
to be able to feel
as we used to
in a distant memory.
And we would gladly comply
just to take it all back
before the light fades,
and all that’s left
are the ashes.”

-*D.C.