Love Song.

Come. I'm waiting for you do you exist? They told me you are the man down the street. They told me you are standing next to me. They told me that I could buy you if I really wanted to but I don't have the money and sensible girls have to spend money on that sort of thing, my mom always said to me. My mother said I will be best finding you when you are wearing a grey suit. Smoke suited men are constant and honest. You will never find them in bed with their secretaries but I don't know. Don't grey suited men have secretaries too mom, I asked but she just sighed and took another drag of her cigarette.

Do you smoke? I don't. I hate how the smoke from cigarettes kills the air around it like an airy vine, strangling everything it touches. My lungs are black like tar from my mom's smoking. You're just paranoid she says but I know that I should be dead of lung cancer by now. You're a hypochondriac and there's no sense in that, she said. But she coughs a lot and there are spots on her face that are getting darker by the day and I know she doesn't have much time left.

She doesn't have much time left until some serious-looking doctor with three-day old stubble will look at her charts and graphs and history and dress and shake his head and tap his pen on his face and then tell her she has six months to live. Six months, she'll say. He'll just nod and tap his forehead with that pen again. Cancer he'll say. And she'll be inconsolable but I won't feel sorry for her at all because of all the cigarette smoke she put into my lungs and I'll go to the funeral but I will say nothing more of grey-suited men after she is laid into the ground and dead.
Where are you? I am standing here on this street, black lunged and freezing. I don't know where to go but I'm standing here with faith that you'll come by soon in your white truck with pure, white exhaust and you'll ask me if I need a ride home because I look cold and it might snow. Do you think it will snow soon? I want to wait for you, beneath this orange streetlight and tie my scarf tightly around my neck and sigh while I wait for you.

I want to hold my arms outward and tilt my head to the sky and touch the snow as it falls before it touches me.
I'm waiting for you. Do you exist? Come.

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I wonder what you'll think of this. If you're wondering I *do* know about the places I messed up the punctuation. That was on purpose.

Enjoy,
Kalinka.