#WritcoPoemPrompt122
Someone has asked you a question,

That feels far too personal,
It's only a first impression,

You might be completely wrong and irrational,

Your memory is foggy,
But you can scrape a few things and make them last,

The one thing you remember of your brother.

Was that he wasn't always a smoker.

Or maybe he just covered it up better when you first met,

The first day you notice his sweater smells somewhat of cigarette smoke, through you brush it off,

Maybe it was of pine wood or dew for when you wanted to be sentimental some days.

You eventually pluck up the courage, and ask him about it,

When you've walked the road together for so long
And finally start to call him your brother.

He runs a hand through his hair, he always does when he's about to laugh muttering something about stress and gas stations.

Leaving you more confuse then you were before.

You wear your heart on your sleeve.

He kept his cards close to his chest,
(In the same pocket as the lighter, in fact)

You soon realize, every table is dressed with a bowl of gray soot, you always through it looked trashy and irresponsible.

Digging through the drawers you find an inhaler
(He started carrying it around)

Your guts start to twist every time you see the wispy smoke escape his lips.

Cigars cigarettes and lighters litter his house, Through never yours.

A bridge he would not be able to cross, you suppose

he would probably jump off of it before he did, anyways.

Some days he can't get out of bed you try to pass him a small white and orange stick,

through you barely touch it before stilling your hands.

he wraps you around and holds you like you two are still brothers to one another, resting his head on yours.

Then making a promise.

This was the one thing, he had told you, you will not follow him on, you will not follow your hero into the dark.

(Through you would follow him anywhere,
To the mossy hills to the mossy graves
Anywhere in the world)

(You will always be his right hand man,
His second second hand smoker.)

He presses his pinky against yours
And says that
He swears.

Skip a few years and you see the fog roll in silent and striking.

Until you finally catch him in the act

He pleds guilty

Saying something about stress,
You cut him off before gas stations again.

He books a boat and leaves the same day,
Saying something on the lines of

Not wanting to hurt you, and going to work on himself.

Before he leaves you joke about him working in a gas station.

Somethings are meant to be.

Others are not, you suppose.

You don't hear from him after, no letters or calls and even after a few years the little white and orange sticks disappear as well

you make amends with a few friends go out for a drive around and get lost like little children.

You open the door fill up the gas and walk around the store plucking up the courage to ask this complete stranger for help.

Walking up to the counter you open your mouth, and then it slacks.

You see him.

A streak of white in his hair and clearly seen better years you are slightly thankful you missed.

he looks you up and down, smiles the smile you remember and asks.

"You don't happen to have a lighter on you by any chance?"

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Art by qitq on YouTube
inspired by DerisiveH on Ao3
So, I only do slam poetry, sorry lol
made this in one day, just wanted to write and just didn't know what, probably a lot of misspelleds
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