Sun, bright shining,
Giving relief from a from a freezing building.
Who thought the wide open could be so warm?
A space where no one is.
To be warm and alone feels like a contradiction.

But I am not alone.

Strong flowers, full blooming, giving off intoxicating aromas.
Their sweetness alone is heaven,
But it is mixed with something.
Smoke?
Yes…

But there is no alarm to this scent. No danger. No cigarette even.
No.
This smell is piped tobacco. This smell is sweet like the flowers.
This smell is a memory.

This pipe, wherever it might be, is a funeral pyre.
The plants mourn their fellow.
Their tears…
Perfume.

A lightning strike in distant past.
A fire ignites and billowing clouds follow.
Nothing new under the sun.

Even then- heat.
Even then- fire
Even now we need to breathe.
Even now we breathe in smoke.

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