Conservatory lights
illuminating as I exhale
cigarette smoke from a mouth full of words
I will never speak.
Something so easy,
an answer so simple,
eighteen nights since I last stood at the window.

The night sky is clear,
and everything’s changed.

The corner sits empty,
bottles untouched,
poems unwritten,
tears I refused to cry.

Cold air bites my skin,
tiny lights in the sky look down on someone entirely different,
and I smile.
I close the window.

… I don’t need it anymore.

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