Something messy I wrote in a waiting room. I have always been waiting.

It is February 12th

I now know for certain that no combination of 26 letters, no slew of words, no arrangement of sound can touch the feeling that I got

upon watching you smoke that cigarette in the woods. 

Hands in your pockets. 

I always knew you would turn out like this.

And I always hoped I would be here, to witness it.

You've looked deep in thought since you were eleven years old. 

I wonder if you think about me, 

too.