A Tale of Three Cigarettes

We breathe the same breath, but the air is so different.

Mine heavy with unconcern. Hers, lithe and hopeful.

-

"He knows why you went for me, in truth.

I, something new for your something blue.

The perfect time and place, the perfect start

the perfect way to mend a broken heart.

So he takes your excuses, and he wraps a cocoon

Of bitter acquiescence, or the part of a fool.

But all of it is yours, so take what you will

No matter if his heart breaks, or tears spill."

Of Sneezes and Split Lips

Whispers echo in spaces

Where quiet sits alone

Where eyes brim with joy

Hiding hearts, grieving heavy.

Smile your vacant smiles. Someone will find a way in sooner or later.

A Question of Faith

There is a ringing in my ears

From the time when he kissed my face

And said, with a voice of broken china

"May god always keep you safe"

I held his hands in mine,

and brought him closer still.

Lips to forehead, tear to eye,

"Don't talk of things that don't exist"

Drunken Reveries

A quiet cloud hovers on the shoreline.

Tokyo is a strange place to find yourself alone.

Peaceful remnants of a mother's knots

fall effortlessly to the floor,

without a thousand soles tasting the texture,

and the safety of a prayer.

It is a time for timid reflection, she says out loud to no one. Her toes squirm. The smooth sand tickles, and the water is warm.

I sleep in her arms, and she sings a song with your name on its breath.

Are we to make the same mistakes we grew to hate each other for?

Litany

Now that he is gone

what did you guys talk about?

Tell me what you need

How am I to do without you?

Buy a new car,

get a new job

find a new place to live in?

Do I have a choice?

What is the point, darling

If

I

Am

Losing

You...

Severed Seas

I'll conjure memories of times

when we were still Siamese twins

joined together at the hip

And other times still

when we were torn apart

stuck by the skin of our lips

But all these memories

will never drown the sound

of you waving on the deck

as you set sail

on someone else's ship.

Closer

"The hardest thing about heartbreak," he said with tear-stained eyes smiling at snowy pavements, "is feeling, ever so acutely, the need to feel another in your arms when you sleep."

She drew shapes in the mud with her toes, and took flight for the sun.

I set myself on fire with your name.

I woke up with ash in my mouth,

and roses, blossoming freely.

Why Yes, Yes I Am.

She said she couldn't see me

So I stayed at home and drank alone

singing along to the voice of falling snow.

-

He saw them fucking through the window of her basement flat. She was gorgeous. The man on top had broad, muscular shoulders. He was driving in hard. She was in ecstacy. The desperate rhythm kept him standing there, till the beat came to a halt.

He chokes back tears all the way home.

-

"Ever stopped to talk to a stranger in the street?"

"No."

"Well, why not make this your first time?"

"Why?"

"Never wondered how you walk by people, and they might have lives, just as simple or as complicated as yours? Never thought about why you do the things you do, and wonder whether they do the same things for the same reasons? Come on, I'm not dangerous, nor am I a lunatic. Look, I'll open my coat up. There's nothing under it but my shirt. Look, I'll even open up my shirt. There's nothing under it but hair, flesh, and some bone."

"Unfortunately for you, I'm miles away from home. And I'd like to get there soon."

"I understand. I'm not doing anything. Nobody's waiting for me. I've got nothing pressing coming up. May I accompany you?"

"...You're not a lunatic, but you're definitely some sort of crazy."

"Can I take that as a yes?"

She says nothing. He follows, and she says nothing still, so he follows.

"My name is..."

"There's no need for your name. We're strangers. Let's keep it that way."

-

Grey sunlight is streaming in through the snow-frosted glass. She is sitting on a bed. She lights a cigarette, and he takes a toke, standing by the window.

"Sex bores me now, but I still want it."

"Bores you? That's a first."

"I'm all kinds of firsts. How many times have you had a stranger in your house before?"

"..."

"Don't mind me. I have no problems being obnoxious."

"That's obvious."

"I'm sleeping with 3 women right now."

"You're awfully forthcoming."

"You don't know my name. You might never see me again."

"You know where I live."

"I'm prone to boredom. I might not want to come by again."

"*Sigh* so the 3 women..."

"A musician, a banker, and an artist."

"Variety, as they say..."

"Eh. It's more about ease and availability."

"Nothing emotional?"

"The musician is in love, and I'm breaking her heart..."

"I was talking about you."

"There is one, but she won't see me no more."

"I'm surprised."

"Your sarcasm is much appreciated, but I kept straight and narrow."

"However did you become Mr. Promiscuity?"

"She wasn't attracted to me anymore. Chose someone else."

"Hm. I think you're attractive."

"...Thank you. I think I'll be going now."

The awkward silence hangs for a bit, and proceeds to follow him out her front door. She sees him turn the corner, and whispers "I await you, stranger. Even though it's time to move on."

Race In, Race out

Curt and to the point.

Like glass, shattering on the pavement, and wine, staining your wedding dress. Or tumours, which aren't funny at all.

Trailer 3

He has her letters, stored still, secrets shining in dulled ink. She has not called for nine years. He wonders if she has his, messy, hurried, honest.

In times of longing, he goes through every scrap there is of her, and puts together a shadow he can hold and love, and kiss.

"Dinner's ready, papa."

"I'll be right down, Julia."

He gathers the pieces of what was, and stows them away. He isn't even sure whether she's alive or not.

It's a sad thought, he thinks, knowing that you can put people away in a box, but you'll never be able to forget them, whether it's a stack of memories hidden in the back of the closet, or six feet under ground.

Panda

"I take that I might break, I'm discovering

that there's so much still worthwhile.

But most of all, I've learned to hate

that I'm still stuck on you."

He sings baritone, and she smiles at him, not knowing he sings of another.

"I'll miss you." are the words that form on her lips, and fly to his ears. "I miss her" is the sentiment singing in his voice, but the words that come out sound like "let me cook for you. But something new."

All the old dishes are hers alone.

-

She has no use for her eyes, so she drops them in his palm.

"When do I see you next?"

"Does it matter? I'll never see you again..."

"Let me cook for you...But something new. I'm tired of making the same old dishes..."

Scream Hallelujah in the key of Dmin.

I should cherish this.

-

Because you can't actually see what I feel when I remember the way you smelled in my arms, and how even the simplest of this pleasure is now denied to me. No matter how I might try to fight for it.

-

She's lost in me, like I'm lost in you, and you're just lost. It's a funny thought, that. Seems masochism comes in all shapes and sizes. Ours is simply more suited to abstraction. Like your words, my music, and her voice.

Her voice. It rang in an empty room, like your words echo in my empty head. They swelled into a crystal ball, and there she was, held in the palm of a ghost, arms extending from my eyes. She looked straight into mine, and saw moats, telling her not to cross.

She walked right along, my arms, her bridges. She looked into the mirror, and saw your face. She knew to leave, but she knew she couldn't.

And now, I sit enclosed, and as I play my music, she sings to me a soulful melody, short of Ti and Re. With every vibrato, she sheds a tear on the breath that bears my name, and I plunge myself deeper into heartbreak.

And now all your love was wasted

And then, who the hell was I?

-

This sweater still smells of you.

-