the wanderer #1

he lit a cigarette and took the first slow drag down with thoughtful calculation.  sitting in the back of the over-sized van with peeling green paint, he played his words to her over and over a hundred times in his head. "give me your hand. everything will be fine, but you have to stop fighting." he knew he would never forget those days while he was still breathing, but for some reason it had all played out against them both. she never stopped fighting and he was never brave enough to stop it for her. crushing out the last glowing light of his smoke, he knew that was a long time ago. life was now simply about survival. dreams and desires were faded ghosts, too tired to even haunt his blackened heart. he peeled the ashen gray sweatshirt over his head and for a second, thought he had smelled her on it. closing his eyes to the night, he quickly realized he had forgotten that scent years ago.