"The girl next door is smoking another cigarette within the hour, and I’m wondering if it’s because..."

“The girl next door is smoking another cigarette within the hour, and I’m wondering if it’s because she has something more on her mind than the thought of missing a boy who will never remember to call her when he said he would. Her and I are a lot alike, this girl with lungs full of smoke. We both are waiting for something that will probably never happen. We’re both missing something that will never make us complete. She came over one time with my dog under her arms to tell me that she was in her yard again. I apologized to her and she just smiled and said that it was okay, that she likes the company when she is outside by herself. I know she was probably smoking a cigarette, but I let the smell of strawberries and Chanel perfume fill my nose when she says that she’ll see me around. I can’t help but wonder who this boy is that comes to her house late at night. I see his 2010 Honda parked on the edge of her driveway from time to time, but mostly I see her in the daytime alone. It’s not that I’m stalking her or anything, because I admit that I too smoke too many cigarettes and dream of when the one I love will come home again.”

- intro to my new fiction story, “The girl next door,”