Wednesday, October 29, 2008

You're so post-modern.

His slightly disheveled hair rest upon his face.
A cigarette lay entwined in his fingers.
Where was he. This setting was unfamiliar to a boy with dreams.
A ghost, pale-faced with a hint of freckles, is sat to his right.
The boy takes a drag from his smoke. Inhale, exhale.
With this, he turns to face the ghost and takes her in.
Her eyes, the colour of the sea, stare through his fragile mind.

Where was he when she needed him the most.

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