As I stepped out of my tin-wagon of a car, I lit a Marlboro. Before I began making my way to your front door, I took one long drag, let the tobacco settle in my lungs and cut of my breathing. It’s funny how we sometimes use cigarettes as an aid to breathe when really they do nothing but hinder the cycle. Either way, I let the smoke swell up in my lungs until my body forced it out into one big cloud surrounding my sad attempt at a hair-do. Lately, I’ve been quite the hair-don’t. I don’t mind, it’s not like I have to impress you tonight. I walk up the stone path to your house and you meet me at your front steps with a kiss as you take my cigarette. You take one drag and throw it on the ground. I hate it when you do that. It’s never even half-way done and you just waste it. Cigarettes aren’t cheap these days and the least you could do is give it back to me once more so I can taste it.

In a way you do when you pull me in for one of those long kisses before we go inside. Sometimes we don’t even make it to your bedroom. We just fall into the hard surface of your futon and have a note-worthy, passionate experience right there. I prefer your bed though, it’s softer, like your skin right after you shave. God, I love to kiss those cheeks. It must be eleven now and we’ve already made love three times, I got to your place at eight. We don’t waste anytime. “I have to go”, I say, so you walk me to my car and underneath the moonlit sky, you pull me in for one last kiss and mutter the three words I have been waiting to hear all my life, “I love you.”

Yeah, I love you back.