Outside with a cigarette as I listen to Tonight, Tonight, by smashing pumpkins I speak to an audience of my own hope personified as a silent choir of angels, watchful and sympathetic, I pray to a god that I don't know to keep my father safe and well. I pray to my father though I cannot see the moon that he and I share our thoughts to, that he and I look up to in the hopes that the other is looking so we may make some semblance of a shared gaze from across the ocean. Perhaps on this night he has prayed too. I've been wanting to relapse. I miss the comfort it gave me, the false security
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