here by the window

I die a little

quietly

every sunset

with a cigarette in my right hand

this is where I meet

with my restless,

my anxious,

my lonely,

my most volnurable

the soft spot

my breath refuses to reach

if it was not for the smoke

I lay my hands on the window frame

in all honesty

to look for you

I inhale the transformation

to survive

as the air turns cold

and the trees dark

I pinch the cigarette

like I crush a slatey rock as heavy as my heart

hoping for the light to return

with the hope

for just one more stroke

and if you should ever become uncertain

there is a small light

right here in my hand

even though it is hard to see

at night

but a new dawn will be

another chance to live

to the end

to end

another cigarette