Exhale

I sit staring, waiting for your lungs to collapse from all the smoke. But you just inhale again and look away. When you exhale I brace my self; waiting for the fire alarm to buzz, but all I hear is the sound of your lungs pushing out the toxic air. And "I'm sorry," comes somewhere between the killing of brain cells and the sighs. And I cough and say 'Your apology is accepted.' I just want to get out of here as quick as possible. Your eyes look hazy. As if the smoke is behind the lenses and I can't see in because it's obstructing my view. You smile crookedly at me and push the hair from my eyes. I flinch slightly at your touch. Your skin stained from holding cigarettes or weed and you smelling like an ash tray. I hate these habits of yours.

"You told me to come over. What did you want?" I say, pulling away from your hand. I love you. Don't do this to me. "I wanted to see you." "I hate seeing you like this." You put down the cigarette and look me straight in the eyes. I kind of hope the haze makes it harder for you to see. And I turn away, just in case, so you can't see that I'm going to cry. But you know anyway. "I said I was sorry." "And I accepted your apology." "Then what's wrong? Why won't you look at me?" I blink hard and try to smile. It's all so fake, we both know it. "I love you." I want to change the subject. "I love you too." You look concerned and it makes me want to cry even more. Why do I do this to you?

"I should be going." I grab my coat off the couch and start to stand. "You can't leave like this." "I have to." "No," you put your hand on my leg, "You don't." I take it in my own hand and look at you again. It hurts me to see you like this. "I have to go." And I do. I stand, I put on my coat and I step into the snow. It's falling fast and when I look back I can barely make out your figure in the door way. But I can feel your eyes on the back of my head. So I just keep walking. I don't know where I 'had to go'.