This Wasn’t What I Planned

I’m smoking another cigarette, listening to the neighbor‘s rake scratch the leaves into a pile. Down the street some kids are giggling, but in a kidly-sinister way. Maybe they found some left over forgotten about fireworks they plan to detonate. A car alarm blares faintly. Like it’s sorta given up, too.

I overhear a pair of friends chatting to themselves, joking and laughing. They sound so happy. I laugh with them because, in the moment, it makes me happy.

It doesn’t last long. My chest feels heavy after listening, like it was a chore. Exhausting for my small frame. Everything feels heavy when you’re light.

This smoke makes me cough and it makes me sick, but I don’t stop.

I‘d rather the hole be filled with smoke than lined with mirrors.