Cigarette Daydreams

We were driving along the California coastline. I could feel the wheels of your red convertible twirling below us. The familiar motion was soothing. Song like. I was in the driver’s seat. It was a thank you for the fun day I had planned. The sun was dropping below the horizon, reflecting off the waters. Your presence was so comforting, so familiar. For the first time in weeks, the pressure lifted from my shoulders. I felt feather light. I glanced at you, your blonde hair whipping in the wind. I chuckled to myself as you picked strands from your lipgloss. I’d always known that was your pet peeve. In your hand was a lit cigarette, wrist dangling out the body of the car. The red of the embers were flickering in the wind. It wouldn’t stay lit for long.

I glance back out the windshield, letting the familiar twisting of the road lull me into a trance. It was almost mechanical. Driving on these roads. The silence was familiar and didn’t seem to bother you much. But for me, all it brought were memories, and the knowledge that you would leave again. I could feel it whispering at the back of my head, like the tendrils of smoke you exhale. She’ll leave soon, you know. It won’t be long now. My hand, almost of its own accord, flipped on the radio. Milky guitar and raspy voices filled the air. You threw back your head and laughed. Suddenly, your hands were in the air, swaying to the beat. I laughed, tossing my head back like you. We sing along. 

It was dark by now. I had hardly noticed. The glow of the streetlights bounce off your face in waves. I watch as they illuminate every feature. Your eyes. Nose. Lips.

I hadn’t even noticed the turn. 

The cliff face.

All I remember is the screaming. And the rain.


I leave the crumpled daisies at the base of your headstone. Happy Birthday, my love.



16 years old

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