NO SIGNAL FOUND [RE-WRITING]

secondhand smoke always tastes the worst v.2

i remember watching him stop
halfway through lighting his cigarette
the wind flickered the flame
and the fire in his eyes grew
undertones of blue and grey

he always told me
"it's too difficult for people to care about you so they just give up"

the streets were empty that night
the houses dark
he said a lot of things
out of the two he was only right about one

3 months earlier
"you know, all that biting your nails is going to lead to smoking"

it was a night of an awful haze
dusting sleep from our eyes
and clouds from our minds
i realized when you're out of sight
you are far from out of mind

i never learned how to keep
blunt questions from escaping my lips
and rushing into your ears

i had a habit of untamed words
and thoughts, speaking in tongues
i couldn't quite get the message by
taught myself to welcome distorted and
frayed ways of saying exactly what i needed

sometimes i'd ask him
"what do you think of me?"
i can't say i was surprised when he answered my question with one of his

"what makes you think i think of you?"

july 4th 1:50 am

**the past entry and this one was written a year apart**