I $moke too much

I remember smoking cigarettes in your garage, watching the rainy skies and listening to music, nobody else around but you. It was always just us in the world, wasn’t it? I remember all the things we said without words, glancing into each others eyes, the brief pauses of breath preceding every passionate tongue-laden kiss that never wanted to end. I remember the bittersweet taste of the whiskey we passed around as we cuddled and I held my arm around your tiny body, and I remember the euphoria of fucking roughly on the floor, hands entwined as the lights went out, the beauty in the sound of your gasps and moans, the feeling of your warm tender skin and your silky short blonde hair, beaming azure eyes and the strange smell of perfume. I remember the goodbye kisses every midnight before I walked home, knowing I’d see you at school the next day, knowing I’d be back to that garage the day after to do it all over again.