The warm fuzzy feeling inside, the great goofy happiness, the fucking idiotic behavior that doesn't seem to matter at the time because you are too fucked off your fucking face. It was dirty, messy, dangerous, something to be ashamed of, and it definetly WASN'T beautiful. In more sober moments, I have no idea how much later it was, could of been minuets, hours, days? I tried to gain some comfort.
Again the cigarettes led me to you, and a bit of confusion and a bit of sadness and a bit of comfort. In that scene, there actually was beauty. You looked, so pale.. with messy hair and your pretty eyes.. the soft morning light being so complementary. Sitting at the wooden table outside. You asked me if I was okay, I lied to you so you wouldn't worry. And when the cigarette was stubbed out, when we embraced and you kissed my shoulder, you left.
I pulled my hood over my eyes and some kind of liquid was leaking from them.
You have no idea. Maybe you do. It doesn't matter, but I have no intention of telling you anytime soon.