the glow of multicolored string lights creates a glow so soft, I swear
I can feel it. from the blue cracked front porch swing, it looks as if the singular pink dollar tree candle is the only source of light. there is a lit Marlboro menthol in my hand and I can barely breathe enough to take another hit. I do, anyway. I don’t like the taste of cigarette smoke anymore but I can’t taste it tonight. my tongue swirls around in my mouth and I let the smallest amount of blue smoke escape my chapped lips. my mouth in the shape of an ‘O’ but the wind pushes the circles into ovals before blowing them away. I watch the smoke forgetting the tears rolling down my cheeks, clinging to my face before falling. they suffocate the embers.
Lauren Estes is an English major who dreams of spreading awareness of mental health through creative writing.
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