i had a dream that i was smoking copious amounts of cigarettes in the CIA's backyard. one by one they went, and i wasn't even scared that they would be mad at me for breaking the law. i sat on the plastic swingset (the CIA always has one of those) and watched the smoke rise and rise. and then you came. you sat down next to me,
"you shouldn't smoke, it's bad for your health. give me a few of those."

so i did. and we sat there, in the dark, and didn't say anything. we watched glowing ember after glowing ember extinguish, and still we sat. i forgot that i actually hated cigarettes, and also being outside in the cold. you grabbed my hand, and told me it was freezing. i told you i didn't have gloves, so you did the job for me. you started telling me stories. i listened, fascinated, about all sorts of subjects: the war, climbing mountains, and road trips to other states. the CIA seemed childish. we sat for hours, and then you smiled sadly, got up and left. plain and simple, you were gone, without an explanation or a look back.


but i always did love you for being mysterious, i guess. and for defying the CIA at three am.