Two weeks had passed.
I could still smell the spice from your cigarette
and feel the smoke swirl through my lungs
better than oxygen.
There was comfort in its density-
for the fist time I felt full.
I exhaled and let it pass through the wind
maybe it would travel to the places
I’ve never been, or maybe the places
I’ve never left.
It happened again.
I heard the melodies from your voice,
saw them tiptoe down the stairs
and gaze out the window,
waiting for the morning to break
and a chance to catch a dream.
I opened the door and let you walk
fearing that this cage would keep you
tied or unsatisfied, or worse, keep you
from the truth.
