listen, she tells me, smoke curls from her lips, grey, musky, bitter in my nostrils and billowing into my face. she knows it suffocates me, water filling my lungs that i can’t expel no matter how violently i cough. but she laughs as she turns, blows smoke into my face. she never seems to take me seriously.
listen, she tells me, we sit side by side, shoulders touching, huddled for warmth yet we are oceans apart, collapsing water, tidal wave, engulfing ships into our icy chaos. we are calm, tranquil, soothing on some days, yet other days i feel as if i am helpless to her demands and drowning in her words.
listen, she tells me, her burning cigarette dangles from freezing fingers, supposed to keep her warm but doing nothing. she is supposed to be here for me, supposed to support me, supposed to be happy for me, and yet she is glacial and i am numb.
listen, she tells me, illuminated by dim streetlights and surrounded by eerie 2am atmosphere, odd silence and ambiguous ambiance. it is always unpredictable with her, the dread of something approaching you can’t quite explain.
listen, she tells me, finally putting out the cigarette, crunching under her boot, an ghostly hand of smoke reaching out from the tombstone of her sole. i want to tell her to stop, but my words are hushed by fear. she tells me things she knows i don’t want to hear, but forces me to listen, anyway.
— purposeful ignorance