Writers block has struck again.
I walk outside for a cigarette
To try and collect my thoughts.
As the smoke escapes my lips,
All I can think about is you.
The way you look, the way you speak.
I embrace the images in my head.
Then I remember that its all the past.
You dont speak to me like that anymore.
Tears fight to roll down my cheeks.
I race up the stairs to write of my newly found muse,
Of all the amazing time we shared
And how I wish we still could.