Smoke Signals

Writer’s 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 it’s all the past.
You don’t 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.