everytime i thought of you, i smoked a whole pack.

maybe i didn't need to light everything that was ever given to me on fire and throw it off the train bridge, and maybe i don't need to wear black for the rest of my life and mourn the living corpse of something abstract,

because although the door can be locked from one side, it can always be opened on the other.

but a certain amount of that foreign substance has been obtained, and although apologies were uttered from only one set of lips, i did manage to slip in a few year-to-three-year-old thought processes between inhalation

and as it has always been with him, ever since you introduced me to him over a bottle of wine so many nights ago, he took his shoes off at the door,

and like a gentleman, Love tipped his hat to me on the way out.