i sat outside
a cafe with a book
about a story ;
two star-crossed lovers
whom i didn't really care to read about

a couple years had passed
since i left my old life
in a city i once hated, that now,
i perhaps miss
my heart still ached to think about
who i left behind

i flipped through the pages
not reading nor skimming the words
but more like occuping myself
until something happened
which, nothing did

a lonesome stranger
with dark hair,
and soft, warm eyes
sat down in the chair in front of me
i did nothing but stare a few seconds

because something about those eyes
made my heart ache
before flipping through the pages once more

i felt the stranger's eyes glance at me occasionally
or glance at the book
or maybe not even either one of these

soon after a while
the stranger pulled out a small pack of
cigarettes,
cherry.
just held it for a few seconds

then the stranger offered me one
"i find cigarettes quite disgusting"
i said as i took one anyways
"as do i"

i looked at the cigarette
and then up at the stranger
and then i knew
that the stranger was no stranger at all
but the love that i left in the city
that i left everything in
including myself

i sighed
the box of cigarettes were passed to me
and the stranger got up and took my book
it was once given to me by the stranger

why had i kept a book i didn't care for?
because of the words the stranger left inside
that i read every goddamn night

stranger i needed you then
and i need you now
but i wasn't good for you
i know you still look
for an answer
as to why i left you

but sooner or later
you would've realized
it wasn't the awful cigarettes
that were killing you

it was me