haunted by memories

I am haunted by memories. Melancholia, like moonlight on night water, whispers its old lament and I am wrapped in the odd comfort of longing and regret. What if I had chosen differently? Where would I be today? Instead of here, sitting outside on a lonely evening watching myself smoke another cigarette. Its seductive smoke, spiraling up in slow motion and my every movement languid and succulent feeling. There can be a holiness in this kind of soft slow suffering. A yearning for that other life, almost like prayer. ~~~~~~~~~~~~