Cemetery Weather

The first time I saw you, you were sitting in the damp cemetery grass. Your legs were outstretched and you were leaning against a chipped gravestone with your head tilted back, a cigarette dangling from your lips. The smoke mingled almost seamlessly with the fog. Your eyes were closed and you looked too peaceful, almost like you could really belong here if it wasn't for that cigarette.

I wondered what you were doing here, sitting a mere few feet from me. No one ever came this late at night. Besides me of course. You must have sensed me after a while, or maybe you had known I was there from the start. I remember you finally opening your eyes only to give me a lazy wink before you let the cigarette fall from your lips. You smothered it under your boot and glanced back up at me.

“Hello, Red.”