Δευτέρα, 17 Αυγούστου 2015
I Used To Write On Walls
Cigarette between my fingers.
I look up at that gorgeous summer night sky.
I bring that cigarette to my lips.
I am where I used to be.
Standing on a familiar corner.
But I breathe you out.
Out and up and away.
I dropped you in a sea as deep and dark as my soul.
Am I free? I don't know.
But on that very evening, on that very corner I know the very little detail of it, I breathed you out and watched that smoke dissolve into the nothingness of the night.
I'm here again.
And this time, I didn't keep you with me.
It was unfamiliar.
But soothing at the same time.
I looked up at what used to be my window.
Took that final drag.
And threw you and that cigarette butt away.
I felt lighter walking up the street after that.
And as I meshed into the noise of the street I told myself "Kid, I don't know how, but it's gonna be okay".
And strangely enough, I actually believed it.