Unobtainable  − 28 February, 2007

The tree I sit beneath corkscrews into the sky, intertwining its branches with another’s like a pair of clasped hands. Far above me, these hands hold a pale and priceless gem in their cracked and gnarled fingers. She’s the unobtainable moon, lighting the earth around me in silver. Clouds of silk lazily cross the sky, and I close my eyes and drift with them.

 

My thoughts lead themselves, exhausted, to no place. The air is cold, but not unbearable. I pull the one lonely cigarette from its pack and place it between my lips. I touch a flame to its tip and inhale. Death coats my throat and fills my lungs, and as I exhale I can almost imagine that the fading cloud above me is a piece of my life, leaving me forever. There should be sadness in this, I think, but there isn’t. There is only smoke, gilded by moonlight but disappearing anyway.

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