Smokes.

Smokes. That's how she got into it.

She got inspired. She loved how the smokes from the cigarettes would disappear into nothingness after displaying a swirl of beauty.

She always loved how the cool kids would go off into the night and blend in with the shadows of the dark streets. All that would be visible was the light from the cigarettes and the distant street lamps in the background.

She lived for those long car trips back home at 3 AM while blasting indie pop and letting the windows down.

She loved the emotionless mess she had become.

And so did he

He loved what beautiful mess she was. He wanted her to feel appreciated for it.

He had fallen in love with all that she was.

She knew nothing of him except for the lingering scent of cologne. No smoke. She wondered how she liked him. How she was infatuated with him. It didn't make sense.

But the question is, how do you let others feel what you cannot feel for yourself?