The smoke she exhales, dances its mysterious dance before settling into thin air. She strikes another match, and lights another whilst she’s there. Staring at the empty streets that linger down below, she drops her chin to her hands held up by her elbows. She studies the rapid raindrops as they race to their demise, it’s funny how the product of a cloud has such power to entice. She yearns to be wanted, yet she yearns to be free and all she hopes and prays for is to live her life happily. She imagines she too is a raindrop, falling from the heavens, maybe then at least some people would acknowledge her presence. She takes another drag, and pulls down into her lungs, and slowly releases the smoke and watches it rheumatically move to the silent drums. She’s lonely and afraid, but in the best possible way, she knows the emotion of love is one that can easily fray. She pulls at the loose string on her old and worn house coat, with her free hand, whilst her latest cigarette drag settles in her throat. She has never felt wanted, and she’s never not felt alone and when she’s sat on her own, she lets out her little groan. She’s never been in love, and she’s never had love shown and what little experience she’s seen has reached its peak and been thrown. Tossed aside like it didn’t matter, yet destroying everything in its path and it’s not a shock to the system that her want of love has passed.
So, she sits there silently, enjoying her pack of smokes, allowing the soothing effect they gave give find her new ways to cope. She blinks her eyes tightly, letting tension build up mighty, and when she opens them again, she can scope for new hope.