It's Monday morning.
Standing still at the balcony
as I watch the rushing cars passing by the expressway below.
Counting the balmy streetlights from the distance.
Trying to inhale
of the remaining tip of the cigarette.
to exhale every nicotine left within my lungs,
along with these thoughts.
As if I'm watching every bit of me disappeared into the thin morning air
along with the twirling smoke.
My fingers are too numb to strum anymore chords,
so I lay my lovely red guitar to rest
Watching the sun slowly emerging from the hills.
And the moving clouds.
Wonder whether I could paint an image,
with my fingers in the sky.
Trying hard, still.
While missing you, still.
So much, still.
From a distance.
Over the hills, far, far away.
Oh, hello, Monday.