Everything will be okay, you say.
Will it? I mumble.
What? You raise your eyebrows while carelessly lighting the cigarette between your lips.
Soon your face hides behind smoke and the winter fog. I search for your eyes, trying to figure out if you really meant what you said. If you really believed that everything was going to be alright. I keep wondering, does anything ever gets alright.
It does not.
That’s what I have known my entire life. We just learn to live with pain. We become good at hiding pain. Or we just learn to live with sedatives. Any sedatives that we can grab with our weakened fingers – cigarettes, alcohol, sex, word. Anything, as long as it helps to hide the pain.
You know what’s funny? We do nothing to ward off that pain. We don’t want to kill it. We just hide it under wraps. See we need that pain to feel alive. Without it we would be just two hollow people moving around. Sure, people would know us, but we wouldn’t know ourselves. And that is why, we go our own ways every few months and when the pain begins to disappear we gravitate back towards each other to hurt and get hurt.
We are sadists like that.
What, you ask again from across the smoke.
I shake my head to indicate nothing. Nothing.