cigarettes and melancholy

He burnt a cigarette like incense,
let the smoke drift gently into oblivion.
We sat,
quiet,
letting the scent fill our chests
And the nostalgia drape our souls
like wisteria vines on an old cherry tree.
It stood upright.
Not a monument, but
A monolith, to our everything.
All our multitudes
so pristinely encompassed
like cling wrap
on yesterday’s leftovers.
We sat
and watched as it decomposed,
and, as we faded away,
mourning that we could never be so free
Morning glow caressed our faces
and whispered sweet nothings into our ears.
We sat,
not contemplating, but reminiscing
on that which we already knew.
Neither of us spoke.
The tree didn’t fall
and we didn’t learn.
I wouldn’t have remembered,
were it not for its remains.
The ashes were scattered,
Then swept away.