Craving without cure

“Drowning in Smoke & Cherry Wine”

I light another cigarette

with the flame of his last word—

still warm,

still burning.

Whiskey tastes like his mouth,

bitter and smooth,

with a hint of danger I’ll always chase.

I sip to forget,

but every drop remembers.

Him.

Me.

Us,

in some alternate version

where he stays

and I don’t have to beg.

He never asked me to wait,

but I did.

I still do.

Like a glass half-full

of promises he never made.

I wear my addiction

like silk on bare skin—

soft, seductive,

poisonous.

Some girls want diamonds.

I wanted to be enough.

But I learned to settle

for being wanted.

Even if it hurts.

Especially when it hurts.

Because pain is the only language

he ever spoke fluently.

And I was always such a good listener.