Cigarette

On a rainy night where water drops walk across my face, leaving a cold sensation of grief, affirming my belief that the world is not kind to those with a beating heart.

Can you hear it?

Each drop leaves ripples in the puddle, amplifying and expanding to the point of reaching understanding. However, what is it to understand when I am here standing with wet sorrows, grieving exactly what I want and can’t fulfill. Isn’t it my choice?

Light a cigarette if you please, gentlemen.

You see, that’s the only company the alley allows. If you listen closely, if you hear in silence, you can hear the sound of a burning sensation.

Each breath you take, you inhale exactly what has kept you awake.

Yet this void can only be filled with such company in times of despair.

How many times do I have to come here?

At exactly this place where I stand, where the light flickers from the poles, remembering what it could be, what it should be—but it will be in time. Tough time only stops in this alley when I am burning every inch of my body. Don’t you feel the same?

This burn on my chest is what keeps me in awe….

you probably asking why im smiling. Well I was gathering my thoughts again. Agh… I flatter myself, you see…

How can they be so oblivious of their surroundings, yet each and every one of them has a story to tell—a mockery of what life put us through. Not like I have been playing a role myself and following the script, but at least I am the one narrating it.

So I wonder gentlemen … ooohhh… I wonder…

They say that God’s time is perfect, but I guarantee you that this is far from the truth in the journey I am walking right now. Can it be that from this imperfection, perfection is crafted? Can it be that time doesn’t belong to me, but I am just taking its space?

Rain keeps purring down and from afar I slightly hear the sound of a door closing. For a fraction of a second, time stops, and the alley allows my attention to be captured by two eyes that have their own story to tell.