Sunday, January 30, 2011

wishful thinking.

Tonight, the skies are clear. Not a cloud in sight, you can see each individual star shining on its own. Some closer to others, but all make up a visually stunning canvas.  The day was long and you hurt from the day’s unwelcome events. Your eyes are still red and they burn from the tears you finally cried. But you breathe in deep; the cold winter’s air feels so good inside your lungs, in substitute for the cigarettes you keep at the bottom of your bag. You are on your last one—finally. And you say it is your last pack but deep down, you are not sure whether you are strong enough to truly let go. They are unhealthy and at times they make you sick yet you hang onto them because there is not much that leaves you breathless and wanting more. You have been immune to the heartbreaks and emotional turmoil you put yourself through. Those cigarettes you smoke are not nearly as damaging as your own thoughts.

You breathe in several more times, taking in the silence that accompanies the night. Your warm breath turns into white wisps, and they swirl upwards towards the stars. Oh, those stars are small and so precious. You wonder whether they do the same but look downwards, at all the human beings. And somehow, the thought of you and the stars looking at each other is comforting. Because at least you know you are not alone tonight.

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