The night hummed low, with a half-lit lullaby, city streets tinted with amber glows and traffic lights, the air crisp with Spring’s breath, fresh and waiting. We stand outside a corner shop, leaning out into the cold, bodies curled towards each other like parentheses, a sentence incomplete She flicks the lighter once - nothing. Twice - still nothing. Zephyr’s wind stealing every spark before it can catch on. Fooled, on the third try, a flame burns to life, small, stubborn, and golden. She cups the baby like a whispered secret, shielding the Winds wrath with her palm, and lights the vice puckered inbetween her two lips. And, just for a moment, I see the fire in her eyes. A slow inhale, the paper crinkles. the ember at the tips glowing like a heartbeat. She breathes in deep, lungs filling with something heavier than air, a silence pressing into her ribs. Her lips part, and smoke drifts – Thick silver ribbons curling into the cold night air, caressing her soft, pale face, And fading into the night like a hazy fever dream. She turns to me, and our eyes meet, a cigarette held between two rosy delicate fingers, Offering it to me like a blade, like a confession. I take it. The filter is still warm from her mouth, marked by the ghost of her lipstick, smudged at the edge like something fragile. It’s more than love. It’s an offering. I press it to my lips. and I drag deep. I feel the sting, the burn, that bitter kiss of nicotine on my tongue. I hate this – the taste of tar and static, the way the smoke lingers in my clothes like a bad detergent. Cigarettes reek of endings, of cheap perfumes, and of last goodbyes. but with Her, it’s different. The scent is softer – something floral, something warm, something sweet. Like crushed hyacinths in the late summer breeze, Like the way honeysuckles cling to the air after rain. With her, even the burn is a blessing. We pass it back and forth. a shared cigarette is a slow confession, a silent ritual, a borrowed vice, a tradition older than time. Each drag is an unspoken word, Each inhale, a quiet promise, And in the pauses inbetween we say everything without saying anything at all. Ash crumbles, and falls, fluttering to the pavement. She watches it fall. She watches me. There’s something in her gaze – something like longing, something like surrender. She burns for me. I’ll die for her. And we both know this is more than love. This is smoke and ember, breath and fire, the closest we’ll ever get to holding eternity in our hands.
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