She asked me for a light. She smokes and she turned to me for her cravings. I’d give her one, but my hands are empty. I don’t smoke.
But I would for her. I’d light up. I’d light up this paper-thin world for that smooth face, that whispery laugh. A flame for every day I’ve crossed her path. Unnoticed. I’d burn and take it all. Just for her.
A pair of birds danced and squabbled overhead. I remember wondering where the third had got to.
“Okay...um, well, thanks anyway. See you around some time. Maybe.”
Absolutely. Next time, I’ll bring a lighter.