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It doesnt' make hurt?
"Mo?" I turned and saw my mother, who for the umpteenth time had caught me crying and smoking on the terrace. "Hi mom..." I said in a dark tone. "Doesn't that hurt?" I took a drag and then said "Yes mom, I know, smoking is bad" - "It doesn't hurt...staying there still, inhaling that smoke that should distract you, and which instead brings back in you all those memories that hurt. You say you smoke to not think, but it's impossible not to think. And those diaries in the boxes in your room prove it, my daughter... You always think, even while you're dreaming, perhaps you think. You think because you feel lost, and you're looking for grips. You think that life has no meaning, and in your stories you try to give it one, because you are strong and hopeful. So stop closing yourself here on the terrace and smoking and thinking alone, let's think together instead! You write like a god, you talk about distant lands, beautiful women, beautiful ideas. Don't keep them just to yourself." I stood still, with tears in my eyes, and dropped the cigarette butt to the ground. "Mama..."
© PityPoem
© PityPoem
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