Grey was what she would describe him
grey skies and cigarette ashes
the matter between black and white
inbetween young and old

He reminded her of the fury of grey storms
and the impending thunder she hid from in the forests,
before she met the team.

How the roar of engines sounded as they churned
and the sudden gush of air under her felt as the airship soared
when she first stepped on his beloved Highwind.

The lifting of feet from solid ground,
how terrifying and boundless at the same time.

Yes, it was then she felt like she could conquer the world
with arms stretched wide and head held up towards the skies.

No, he wasn't like the chimney smokes
which she used to avoid when she leapt from rooftop to rooftop
Black, half-burnt carbon, soot and dark charcoal
that clung onto your hair no matter how hard you wash
No, she bet in that incinerator, he was just grey ashes
simple grey ashes
(that in a blink of an eye, they disappear)

Then she wondered,
if anyone of them had put a cigarette or a cigar in,
so he would enjoy in heaven.

On second thought, she bowed her head
and whimpered like a lost puppy.
(Oh, she could have been the one to put in that cigar! Oh she could have!)

She was sorry she couldn't be the one to put that particular cigar in.
Sorry for herself, sorry for him, sorry at the world.

Fingering the cigar, she allowed herself just one whiff of smoke to remember him by.