I’m lonely now but soon I’ll smile
and have that same feeling of when I used to live in the desert and drive though the mountains;
reaching the crest, I’d see across the dry valley until it reached countering peaks, abashedly burst through chaparral plain.
It was infectious.
It gave me hope.
“Who do you think about when you’re alone” he said and I thought about it for a bit but before I could answer he goes “and who do you think about when you’re not?” and that’s what got me. What thoughts chase you through your empty mind? What memories keep you tied to the shore?
“Maybe I never loved her” he said and then breathed down a quarter inch on his cigarette because it made him feel good but the more he thought about why he smoked the sicker he got: a slow jaunt towards disease from tar and smoke and the devil that came into his body. He was killing himself. He was killing himself and he wanted it.