Cigarette

I miss the smell of your cigarette stained finger tips, the way the scent would linger under my nose as you stroked my lip.

I crave your nicotine drenched kiss, I need my fix.

I place a cigarette inbetween my lips, but it doesn’t have the same kick, nicotine tastes better when it’s off your lips.

S. Alaa

The Inbetween

Your current is dangerous and when it is still, it is waiting to be provoked. I do not know whether to stay on the shore and wait till your currents have calmed to sail again or locate a new ocean to sail. I am in the in between.

I am unsure whether in time you will welcome me back to join you or churn up a storm to keep me out. Perplexed, I sit at the edge of the shore. Yet, I feel like I am anchored to the bottom of the sea bed, chained around my ankles, floating aimlessly just below the surface of the sea. I cannot sink to the bottom nor am I able to float to the top. Now do you understand? I am in the in between.

It feels like I am staring at the face of a clock, gnawing as the minute hand goes back and forth between two dials, waiting for it to make one revolution. And I think to myself, can it be fixed or is it time to get a new clock? I am in the in between.

It feels as though I am climbing a mountain, oxygen concentrations are depleting, I am exhausted and weak. But I have almost made it to the top, shall I take this as a victory in itself or climb cautiously and tactically to the top? I am in the in between.

Do I hold on and wait or let go? There is nothing more torturous than false hope.

I am in the in between. – S.Alaa