A dream I think I once had

You smoked a cigarette beside me in the passenger seat of my car in the dark, in the park one night

a lifetime ago.

You said: “We are born, we do stuff & then we die.

That’s all…

I wish I could, but I just can’t make myself care that much anymore…”

Spectral blue curls billowed out from between the clumsy teeth inside of your beautiful mouth, & attempted to dance with those lengths of false-coloured hair you absently caressed.

You had an affinity for dysfunction, you told me:

“I thrive among the broken things”

& I remember thinking that it was fucked-up how much I wished I was more fucked-up than I already was.

I wanted too much:

I wanted your love.

Nothing else seemed important, not the the future, not improvement, not hope or the vast tracts of free & unfettered time that lay before us.

Eventually, I drove you home.

Nothing much had happened yet somehow it still felt significant.

After you had left me, as I sat staring into the darkness, the smell of smoke & your presence lingered

& I was overcome by sensation so intense, that all that has followed since

feels like dull disappointment…