Cigs and Buds
It was as dark as it could be; the night that was all around me. It engulfed me slowly as it started to creep out from the crevices where only the sun had once dared to reach. I sat there in silence as the wind danced around with the barely alive fire of my burning cigarette. As I sat there thinking about everything that was revolving around in the depths of my mind, I felt a presence that felt a little too human to have just been a figment of my preoccupied mind. And even though the loneliness that had surrounded me, in the few moments in which the moon had ascended high above, was anything but peaceful, the wraith that had begun to form around me felt too familiar – for it felt like it was you.
Maybe it was because of how I had still not given up on you or the thoughts of us, or maybe I was still wishing for you to find your way back to me. Hoping that you might come back, and we might travel back in time. To a time much simpler than all of this; where we would both be sitting under the same night sky and not me alone, looking up at the sky as our eyes twinkled like the stars, while we bobbed our heads to songs we both did not know the lyrics of. All this while as we slowly turned our lungs into ash just like the cigarettes that were slowly fading away from our mouths and our memories.
But as I sat under the cold dark shadows of the night that I was sitting under, even though the essence around me felt very intimate, I was sad for it did not seem like you had come to join me in these private hours of the night to share my hollowed attempts at self-harm. Why would you and how would it even make sense? For these attempts to scar myself by inhaling air that was heavier than usual was so that the scars might one day become heavier than the memories of you that I have to live with every day. Sad it is though for I do not think the memories are ever going to get lighter, neither is the smoke going to get heavier. And hence, I am stuck in a vicious cycle under a sky that does not ever feel less lonely.
So I put what was left of my cigarette between my fingers rather than my lips for if their effect was anywhere more than inside of me, it was on me. And just like that, as the wrong end of the cigarette bud got too close, everything went away; you, your presence, the smoke, and all the thoughts too. So now I was confused – for was it the beauty of the night that had reminded me of you – or was it the loneliness that was not once associated with self-harm?
