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I remember that day
When they were making breakfast inside
And I wanted to talk to you but
You were playing hide-and-seek again.
Funny thing was I knew your hiding spot.
The porch, in that worn metal chair.
It was rusting to dust,
But you didn’t care.
You sat me down on your lap.
Held a cigarette between two fingers as if you thought the weight of the world wanted to pay homage to your lungs,
Heavily wrapping itself in
That tight bundle of tobacco and nicotine.
You were staring up at the sky,
Eluding conversation again.
You set that precedent a long time ago.
So I waited.
Watched you scrutinize the sun’s rays as they wrangled with the clouds.
Wondered when exactly those wrinkles began to web by your eyes.
The gray hairs sprouting on your head.
The trembling of your left hand.
I think we’re scared about aging because we know
Time never lies.
And I was utterly afraid.
Finally, you exhaled those murky chemicals.
Sent waves of smoke drifting through the porch screen.
“The moon must be
One sad creature.”
I asked why,
Startled by the sudden question.
And you closed those sunken eyes…
“Because every morning,
She is replaced by someone else.”
You pointed to the sun which burned and burst with light.
“He snatches the sky away from her grasp,
Exploits her desires,
Blankets the stars away from her eyes.
And yet he still manages to shine
Than she ever could.
But he doesn’t deserve it. ”
You lit another cigarette, a frown pulling upon your lips.
I looked up now,
Shifting my eyes away from the ground.
The sun never looked so smug.
And the moon was nowhere to be found.