This December

Your sweater still smells like smoke and rain,

I keep it in the drawer but it calls my name.

July was a fever, now December’s a ghost,

But I replay your laughter when I need it most.

I find old receipts with your handwriting torn,

Coffee stains and doodles from a life we wore.

It’s stupid, I know, to keep ashes this long,

But the silence is louder when your echoes are gone.

We swore we were endless, but seasons don’t lie,

Summer fades quicker than the look in your eyes.

Now I’m ashtrays in December, cold on the floor,

Counting burned-out nights that don’t mean much more.

You were fire, you were fleeting, you were gone in the sky,

Now I’m choking on the ashes

Of July.

The streetlights hum, but they don’t sing the same,

Your shadow moved on, but I stayed in the frame.

I drink to remember, I smoke to forget,

But your ghost in the doorway won’t let me yet.

I still light two cigarettes out of habit some nights,

Leave one in the ashtray on the left-hand side.

It burns out untouched, just a ghost in the glow,

But it feels like you’re here when the smoke starts to show.

We swore we were endless, but summer won’t stay,

I’m haunted by colors that melted away.

Now I’m ashtrays in December, cold on the floor,

Counting burned-out nights that don’t mean much more.

You were fire, you were fleeting, you were gone in the sky,

Now I’m choking on the ashes

Of July.

Your voice is a match, it still flickers inside,

But I’m burned to the filter, there’s nowhere to hide.

I’d live it all over, the smoke and the lies,

If it meant I could keep you for one more July.

I still wear that shirt you hated, torn at the sleeve,

You’d roll your eyes, laugh, and refuse to believe

That I’d ever throw it out — now I never will,

It’s stupid, it’s nothing, but it keeps you still.

The lighter you left me doesn’t spark anymore,

I keep it in my pocket like a saint I adore.

I’m carrying relics like they’ll bring you back,

But all I’ve got left are the nights we lack.

We swore we were endless, but nothing survives,

Not even the embers of love in July.

Now I’m ashtrays in December, cold on the floor,

Counting burned-out nights that don’t mean much more.

You were fire, you were fleeting, you were gone in the sky,

Now I’m choking on the ashes

Of July.

Ashtrays in December, frost on the glass,

I replay our voices like a film in the past.

I can’t shake the ember, no matter how I try,

I’m still choking on the ashes

Of July.

Maybe I ruined it, maybe you ran,

Maybe love’s just a war that nobody plans.

But if I could go back to those nights in the heat,

I’d burn all over just to taste defeat.

Ashtrays in December…

Your ghost on my tongue.

The fire is over,

But the smoke’s never done.