smoke screen

I recently learned that you were high that morning when we climbed the hill to watch the sunrise over the town we are both trying to leave. I tell myself that it wasn’t personal but I struggle to separate the fact that in order to spend time with me you needed to be feeling something else, something otherworldly, because despite the fact that you told me I was made of the stars you couldn’t bear to be alone with my constellations lest you forget that you shouldn’t love them, because I know you did. But you preferred to blur the lines of whatever this was in the same way you blurred your focus that morning.