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i sat outside a cafe with a book about a story ; two star-crossed lovers whom i didn't really care to read about
a couple years had passed since i left my old life in a city i once hated, that now, i perhaps miss my heart still ached to think about who i left behind
i flipped through the pages not reading nor skimming the words but more like occuping myself until something happened which, nothing did
a lonesome stranger with dark hair, and soft, warm eyes sat down in the chair in front of me i did nothing but stare a few seconds
because something about those eyes made my heart ache before flipping through the pages once more
i felt the stranger's eyes glance at me occasionally or glance at the book or maybe not even either one of these
soon after a while the stranger pulled out a small pack of cigarettes, cherry. just held it for a few seconds
then the stranger offered me one "i find cigarettes quite disgusting" i said as i took one anyways "as do i"
i looked at the cigarette and then up at the stranger and then i knew that the stranger was no stranger at all but the love that i left in the city that i left everything in including myself
i sighed the box of cigarettes were passed to me and the stranger got up and took my book it was once given to me by the stranger
why had i kept a book i didn't care for? because of the words the stranger left inside that i read every goddamn night
stranger i needed you then and i need you now but i wasn't good for you i know you still look for an answer as to why i left you
but sooner or later you would've realized it wasn't the awful cigarettes that were killing you
