Wye Oak • Civilian
Moments when I don’t think of you anymore. I stare outside the window. Ghost town. No cars. Civilians gone. The frost puts everything on hold. Smoke what will be my last cigarette. Acknowledge it being over. Done. End. Full stop. Sealed in a chest that should never be reopened. I’m proud of myself for those moments. Upon considering it to be the past, a strange sensation overcomes me. Placid. Not good. Not bad. Also while thinking about forgetting you, I strike a match. And much like the idea of a final cigarette, I realize I lie.