Puff

Someday I’ll write about smoking.* I can’t write about it now, since I still tend to deny it. But someday I’ll write about why and how and when I smoke. I’ll write of my love-hate relationship with it. How I know it kills, and I know I can give it up. But how sometimes, it is fucking convenient. Like a four-inch crutch. Like the imaginary delusional effect of stilletos (deadly?) only between four fingers. Like how it is ugly, but how it is a necessity for company where there is none. To keep certain people in. Like how it is a convenient excuse to escape awkward shared hotel room situations. Like how it can make my stomach turn exactly the way I need it to. Things like that. I even had a kiss that tasted of cigarettes once, and it still stays in my memory, albeit with no fire or no passion. I just tend to remember it, it might be something that I’ll also write about later on. But not now. For now I just think of these thoughts whilst I light up one more stick against my will.

*Properly, not recklessly hewed from my personal diary like this

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.