Our memories are not reliable.
The brain can manufacture
a fabricated memory
as means to protect the self.
December,dusk.
We watched the sun bid goodbye to the horizon
as we fill our lungs with smoke.
On the rooftop, we stood as witnesses
as the dark slowly swallowed the mountain peaks on the east side.
The passage of time marks the wake of the city from its afternoon nap.
The purple sky had drawn its curtain of stars-
as the city mirrored its action with flickering
artificial lights.
You and I.
We stood there watching.
Our conversation blur into puffs of smoke.
I remember feeling the nicotine's buzz.
It reminds me of the aftermath of an orgasm.
I have no idea what you were thinking.
I just know,that there is where i should have been.
December, dusk.
I climb on to the rooftop.
A pack of cigarettes in my hand.
I am no smoker but the trail of smoke lead
the way to you.
I had forgotten why we were there.
I just know, i like how the nicotine's buzz numb my wild senses to peace.
December,dusk.
The smell of smoke tickles my memories.
I'm not sure why i was there.
I just know, my asthma kept me awake that night.
December,dusk.
Alone on the rooftop.