Literature
Lover's Pain
Sitting at a small, round table, he rested his smiling face against the palm of his hand. A smoldering cigarette between his fingers, curved ash ploom atop it. He hadn't noticed the burning sensation as a bit of glowing red flower again fell on the photo album. He hastily brushed away the ash while still gazing at the pictures. Without missing a glance, he clumsily found the glass ashtray and put out the smoke and left it to die amongst the pile of smelly stubs. His fingers yellow.
Shaking his head and slightly laughing, he shook with a chill from the afternoon breeze. Bunching his sweater to his chest, he fumbled for a fresh smoke from his