Waiting

I couldn’t remember if
you still smoked, so nonchalantly I lit a
cigarette. I wanted to
look out across the harbour
but mountains of  clothes hemmed
in and stole the view

You nodded for me to sit
squeezing in between the stacks of
old magazines, with their once glam models dust
covered and faded, I hunched myself down. “Aren't you going to smoke that", you asked.

Hesitantly I placed it in
my mouth -
swallowing down the bitter bile. I
saw your smile – miniscule – but there it was, as you remembered
I didn't smoke.

You waited chewing the time
on your bottom lip. I want to come home, I heard myself say.  The word home lingering long after it
had left my side.
You gave a surprised, acute cough
before
holding out your hand, which seemed smaller than
I remembered – but then, so was I
once.

Handing you the cigarette,
you carefully drew out the
last drags.

Leaving me waiting, for whatever your answer
might be...