I bought special blends although I never cared for them. But, I cared for you, so…when I saw you at your most defeated I bought them. I knew you needed them. I pretended I pulled the wrong lever at the machine, and even if everyone else didn’t believe it, you did. You are always so oblivious. When Jack turned to me and asked if I was still sleeping with that Marine I met back in July, I lied. Not exactly, but enough to where I felt it was a lie. I felt I was hiding something, if only to preserve the possibility of you and me. The thought of dancing with you again into the potholes of New Orleans was too intoxicating to let go of. Timing was never a companion of ours, but I could pretend tonight.
Every time I see you, I retreat home, my fingers itching. I lay in bed next to empty containers where your body should be. I search for a pen I can never find and drift off thinking about the things I won’t remember in the morning. The things I won’t remember to write about you. Because, if I remembered and they were written down, they would be too thick and heavy like the smoke between us-leaving me to sift through it alone.