For reasons unexplained a man watches idly as his long abandoned cigarette smolders away.
The weary ashtray droops but carries the weight of 10 minute worries and burdens, there isn’t anything he can do but be there, to catch the burnt ember tears.
Smoke curls in on itself as it reaches for the horizon, leaving behind the sitting man.
In a room surrounded by the black and blues of life he sits, his life long over and the sun waiting for clearer skies. He isn’t bitter or foul but he has seen the decay, the blurred social tightrope, and he remains; remains the reflection of a aged and lived man.
two minutes go by and the red glow vanishes, leaving only a black and grey graveyard of color and yet the man does not look away. Even extinguished the burned stump offers a memento of silence.
He can’t look away, even as his form fades, becoming one with the damp darkness. Nothing left behind but an idea, a trace, an essence. All that remains is that little white roll, burned around the edges and long abandoned. The room holds no shadows, only the memory of a man who followed his heavy smoke into the dark abyss above.