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Just thoughts.

 The smoke from my cigarette hung listlessly in the air above me; there is no wind to speak of today. I blew a few smoke rings for my own amusement, a rare accomplishment outdoors. An image of Peter entered my mind, of us sitting on those same steps outside my apartment, as we had done countless times this past spring.

My lips were contorted into a comic approximation of something between [u] and [ɯ] as i exhaled. The smoke held no form in the wind, but instead scattered erratically towards Peter. He smiled at the corner of his mouth. "It's too windy, babe," he chuckled. I persisted, with adorable determination. I knew it was too windy. It was for my own amusement, and his endearment. 

Now he is gone, and I don't know if I will be able to get him back. He left at a critical period, a time between wanting and knowing, liking and loving. In an unconscious night of drunken reverie, when he was just waking up eight hours' time difference away, I let myself sleep with my friend, although, apparently, it was only for a few seconds.

Our relationship had taken a turn for the worse once he left Eastern Standard Time anyway--nothing disdainful, mind--the time difference had all but cut off communication between us. We spoke only in "how was your days" and "how's the weather"s. Nothing intimate or even personal, anymore. He said we would deal with it when he got back. He said we would still talk. Every time I try, though, he does not answer. Perhaps I keep catching him at the wrong times, when he is apparently online but in reality sleeping or out of his room. Or perhaps he has decided that trying again isn't worth it.

Either way, I'd like to know.