A moment in smoke

A cigarette lies in my hand —

soft, thin, almost a promise.

The glimmer holds its breath.

The smoke rises,

unwinding old memories

that still cling to me.

I stare at the cigarette butts,

as if they know something

I haven’t dared to believe.

It feels like a different moment —

like sunshine on a wilted flower,

like rain returning to an old street.

With one inhale, one exhale,

a distant memory sleeps

somewhere in the quiet corner of my heart,

breathing calmly.

The feelings don’t rush.

The smoke doesn’t lie.

Everything waits with me.

I take another drag.

The cigarette trembles a little —

as if the new feeling

has already begun.