My soul's sister

There are some nights when a man won't do. 

Nights when nothing and no one can satisfy the twitch dancing in your skin. 

But a soul sister. 

I'd had it. 

To say I was fed up was like saying I like sex. 

It's a bit of a fucking understatement. 

I understand changing your mind. 

Hell, I change my outfit several times a day. 

But there's a point when you don't get to change your mind anymore. 

You get to choose your choice and suffer a life without me in it. 

Hey, if you're a dumbass you get what's coming to you. 

So, reeling from yet another change from my ever changing lover--(or ex, as of late, for the moment, anyway, who the fuck really knows)--I was craving something consistent. 

I was supposed to meet her at our usual place but something about our old haunt didn't feel like what I needed. 

I wanna go somewhere else, I texted her. 

She suggested a dive we'd been to a few times and THAT, for whatever reason, was exactly what I wanted. 

Yes, I wrote back. But only if we can smoke. 

Because this soul sister not only calmed my frustrated storm she also smoked the ridiculously frou frou menthol cigarettes I'd smoked the night I popped my nicotine cherry. 

And sometimes in life there are only 3 things that will do--whiskey, sex or cigarettes. 

(Or all of the above).

So we drank and smoked and we talked of all of it. 

And those few people I can tell my ugly secrets to are the ones who make my heart sing. 

And as we held hands across the table suddenly we both leaned forward and her lips found mine. 

And life is repeatedly full of such disappointment and men who change their minds. 

But sometimes, when the cries of your heart align with the moon, love finds its way to you. 

And it's always sweeter than you remembered.