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.
The curves of my body sink into the springs of the mattress. Before I can close my eyes she starts to tug my hair. I try to nudge her off with my shoulder but she’s persistent. With all her force she pulls for my attention, I can feel each strand of hair latching onto their roots. I cave in. I turn to lay on my back and her whispering starts. Her warm breath tickles my ear as she whispers, filling the canals of my ear with worries and doubts. They make their way inside my skull and carelessly papier-mâché provocative scenarios that evoke nothing but a sense of foreboding and unshakeable angst.
I push her off the bed and nestle under the blanket. She tugs off the blanket with all her force and gently wraps me in a thick blanket of insecurity, I’m suffocating. She’s clasped their bony fingers around my throat and I can feel the air escape my trachea. My chest tightens as her weight pushes down on me and I can feel it slowly crushing me. I plead with her to stop, she rolls off and lays beside me, I gasp for air and I face her.
And there she lays, my anxiety. I try to sooth her but running my fingers gently through her hair doesnt stop her eyes from tearing up with fear. She implores me to try find an answer for every question, every worry, every doubt she has. I cup her face in my hands and try to reassure her the best that I can. But she still asks the same questions and seeks reassurance for the same doubts.
We lay there, both petrified for hours, until the sun starts to rise and she’s done for the night. – S.Alaa