Sight.

The air ached behind the wisps of blue smoke suffocating each corner of the room. I strained my neck to keep my eyes on you from between the shoulders of strangers. The light would hit your eyes occasionally, yet it was hard to guess your line of sight. In a room filled with faces, I couldn’t but help to wish I was not lost between them. You were a stranger to me. Safe in the knowledge that our skin had touched the same skin, but not mine on yours. Your voice reminded me of dark car rides in November and the morning in January I listened to raindrops while he woke up in my room for the last time. So far from that now, I ached for your gaze, and that haunted me.


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