We watched the smoke linger from the butts of our last cigarettes. How the smoke thinned as in danced inside that old mason jar.
We watched the autumn afternoon from the balcony. The sound of the wind replaced those words we could not speak. What was said was said and soon there were no words left. Your patio table was a fault line lying between us, gaping miles too wide to reconcile.
We watched the smoke linger in that old mason jar--thinning for what seemed an eternity--and yet, before we knew it, the smoke, like our love, had died.
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