things are different these days,
because the nights are the same:
lonely but lovely, having fun,
full of anything and poetry,
starting all over again.
take this literally
or figuratively,
but my mirror
sees me smoking
more than she saw
me at all.
I send her books and postcards,
not to win her back or anything,
but because I want to remind her
that she impacted my life,
and I care deeply for her,
which will never end.