Tag Archives: smoking

The Girl With Melancholy Eyes

There was once this girl with really sad eyes at a concert and I fell in love with her in an instant. It was at a Belle and Sebastian show (of course, why wouldn’t it be?) and I noticed her when my friend needed a smoke. We headed out to the small corral they created for the tobacco-addicted and I felt like a cow herded into a small enclosure surrounded by metal fences.

The crowd literally shifted and opened and my memory tells me a streetlight shone down on her as if she were on stage under a spotlight. Her short blonde hair, perfect for her face, was brushed out of her eyes by her pale, petite hand and in an instant I could sense, feel, and see how sad she was. She smiled, took a drag on her cigarette, laughed at what someone said to her, yet the melancholy poured from her eyes and into my heart, infecting it.

A moment later she looked over at me and the smile disappeared; she knew I could see into her soul, could sense through her façade that she felt pain. She nodded to me and I smiled, which caused the corners of her mouth to crack a little before returning to her conversation.

A Swingset Romance

She pumped her legs back, then forth, then back again.  So did he.

“Race you to the top!”

“Don’t you mean let’s see who swings highest?”

He laughed.  Always so logical.

He slowed down on purpose, she stretched her legs as far as they would go.

“I win!”

He smiled and started dragging his feet, and she followed suit.

At a standstill.

“It’s really cold tonight.”

“I can see my breath.”

She pretended to draw on an imaginary cigarette, blew out, and laughed out more.

He started coughing, waving imaginary smoke from his face.

“Secondhand smoke kills.  Thanks for that.”

“Oh please, you lost the last few minutes of life when you’re old and dying and it’s at its worst.”

He stopped smiling.

“But my last few minutes will be with you, saying goodbye to you.  Do you really want to lose that?”

Her smile melted away as well.

“Well, no.”

“Then take it back.”

She thought about it, leaned back on the swing, holding onto the chain and letting her hair almost reach the dirt underneath.  When she pulled herself up, she was smiling again.

“Fine. “

She started pumping her legs again frantically, picking up speed.

“Best two out of three?”

Artwork by Matilda, http://matilda.dreamwidth.org/