I desire the things which will destroy me in the end.
~Sylvia Plath
Those pink, red, strawberry, and maroon lipstick marks—I don't want them, The gray, ashed half-cigarette layer—dead, burnt—just going to meet the ground, to be over, In that moment, I felt the weight of gravity most, I am looking for the chance that it's still lit, I want to pick it up, To smoke that cigarette and consume the love she once inhaled, To inhale the smoke she exhales into infinite space, Yet, I can't reach that infinity, Amidst chaos and numbness, I find myself, Quenched through your burning cigarette, When it reaches its end, my Schrödinger's box will open, Converging the opposites, like life and death intertwined, And I'll be consumed by you, thrown into infinity, or nothingness, Or maybe into a completeness, a freedom I can't comprehend, But I'll be consumed, immersed in it all.
In the ashes of a cigarette and the memory of a kiss, love lingers, showing us that some infinities are felt, not seen.
❤️