By Aishwarya Chandra
There’s a thing about addictions-
The hellish glow at the end of a burning cigarette
reminds me of you.
Your ghost stands at the edge
of an unkempt morning bed-
inhaling the smoke,
sometimes even when the sky is melting azure.
I can’t seem to let go of the snaps
of uneven auburn hair on your proud mustache,
or those veins wrapped around like a soft wraith around your arms.
Every inhale takes me to the moment
when I was falling,
for your hair,
in your eyes,
blown by the wind.
As I ash and collect burned tobacco,
I sink further into my chest.
Would you still think of me on hazy long nights?
Or perhaps, while looking at carefree golden skies?
One big final drag,
and your ghost dissipates with the smoke
as I put out the devil.
I’ll see you again soon,
I slowly whisper.