“Soda”

Years ago, I asked you to stop smoking and you said,

“Soon.”
“Tomorrow?” I asked.
“Soon.”
“How about this Friday?”
“Soon.”

And you never did stop, but I never held it against you
because we’ve all got to do our own thing
and we’ve all got our own things to fuck up
and we’ve all got our own fuck ups to make up for.

so I’m afraid sometimes,
mostly about the day that you’ll make up for these things,
but I try not to worry.

though sometimes,

that’s all I can do.

3 months agoFebruary 25, 2012 Reblog poetry pretty words