Still smoking? Not surprised. I hate cigarettes but love them on your lips and your long fingers around my neck, between my legs, isn’t something I miss. The only time I’ve seen you is when my mind mistakes you somewhere, where you cross the shadows of dunes mound with salty ruins of your resemblance. After you left, it took me months to find my way around me again. Remember when we would stay up until sunrise, talking shit? I don’t.