cigarette smoke blurring the lines

Between what is and what could have been.

A thin line now.

The smoke dissipates and with that reality melts into dream.

You sit there. Across the table maybe.

Me.

You.

Distant by a piece of carved wood.

Intimate and intertwined with each other’s soul.

The sizzling of the pancake batter on the stove.

The light tune of a song we both love.

The sound of your laughter because the joke I told was too lame.

My “hmph” mimicking that of the future daughter we have.

A sudden thud and I am snapped back to the real.

The line ever so visible now.

You.

I love you. It’s ruining my life.

I love you. It’s ruining my life.

I love you. It’s ruining my life.

I love you. It’s ruining my life.

I love you. It’s ruining my life.

Me.

No carved wood. Just two people in different places. On different pages.

A constant ring of a phrase I’d rather not say.

Echoes of an unknown voice. Or maybe your real voice take away the sound of your laughter.

It keeps saying, I never loved you though.

I wake up with a jolt;

What is real? What is not?

I look up and there you are,

cigarette in hand,

blowing away the smoke. 

the line?

doesn’t seem to exist anymore.