Hearts Like Smoke

The words always hung on our lips, like the years that trembled on Daisy’s. They spilled to the air, but never the ear. Always silent between our eyes.

All the things he had tried to tell me. A scattered explanation. The shatterings of a heart. In the silence of a glance. The hookah pluming between us. And our hearts like the smoke, hanging in the balance of the thick air.

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