Midnight Cigarettes

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I miss sneaking
a smoke
on my parents’ porch;
those silent moments,
anxious in bed,
waiting for family
members
to fall sleep.

I miss whispering
“good night”,
my pretend sleeping,
the soft night light,
the crack of my door,
me creeping through,
holding my breath
to listen.

My bare feet
tiptoeing on carpet,
shoes dangling in hand,
mind wrapped up in plan,
passing sleeping sounds,
to the front door locked,
loud heart pound,
the echo of the key
click.

I miss the cold
air that greets my face,
my slow motion exit, a
cigarette in a sweaty palm;
the no regret.

I miss —
inhaling, exhaling
in folds
of nighttime’s
morning,
alone but all right,
adrenaline gushing,
thoughts whooshing
and buzzing,
city lights like
fireflies,
my current life
unrealized,
staring out in wonder —
the moon’s sad face.

Author: Mad Girl

Writer. Thinker. Perspective Seeker. Observer of the extraordinary and mundane.

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