Limerence.

In a dimly lit room, light mostly coming from the cracks of a run down window, smoke hung thickly in the air, coating it like a thin, gray blanket and the stench of cigarette was heavy. In the corner of the room, sat a man, a cigarette in one hand and his head thrown back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, a dazed and bored look on his face, and beside him, lying on the bed with her head on his lap, was some two cent chick he had picked up from some corner of the street, passed out, and probably high on the cocaine and alcohol she had taken from the same place. He paid her no attention, his thoughts wandering elsewhere, or rather, towards someone. Until recently, he had forgotten a little about her, but then she was mentioned, reminding him of how much he craved the smell of her hair, the sparkle in those baby blue eyes of her, the feel of her skin against his and best of all, the whimper that left her lips each time he tormented her. It was a long time ago, but each time he took a puff f