when all is quiet i sit by the balcony admiring the full moon.. letting my ciggarete burn its short life out.. and wonder if life would ever be as good as i always dreamed it to be.. will i be able to get over it.. isit like the rest? or is this a new untreadable ground.. filled with freshly sowed grass and smelling of the dung that was used to fertilise it..

but before i come to any conclusion.. the ash falls gently on my lap and the thought flutters away as silently as the smoke dissipates into the cold night air.. appearing only during the next moments of lucidity of the next smoke break..

it helps me make sense of this world.. make sense of me.. and make sense of you..

next time meet me.. on a sunny road..

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