You start to smoke a lot, a full pack of Lucky Lights each day.
It becomes a habit you kind of like. You take a white stick out, take a few long drags, watch it consume, then throw it away on the pavement, like any other rude parisian.
You don’t even smell it anymore, you don’t even have a clue you’re all covered in its filthy odor. You can’t see that your teeth will soon turn yellow, or that you’re slowly losing any other taste in your mouth. You just get used to it. You don’t love it, but it’s okay, it passes time.
And then, on a beautiful morning, you wake up and grab this old friend of yours, stick it between your lips, as any other morning.
At first you don’t really understand what’s going on, you just feel fine. Just perfect. You can feel your cigarette as never before. You don’t watch it consume, you admire it. The light at its end, the white paper so thin and soft, the smoke coming out of both ends, it’s fucking beautiful. You enjoy it so much. You’re fullfilled. The taste, the smell, the sensations, the vision of it, everything seems to match perfectly with this cold and sunny winter day coming.
And without you even noticing, the cigarette’s all consumed. It feels like it lasted only a second. You don’t want to throw it away, it tasted so good. You realize you just had the greatest few drags of your short life. You keep the filter between your fingers for a moment, kind of hoping the feeling will last a bit longer. But it doesn’t.
You end up lighting another cigarette, thinking maybe it was just the moment that was so great, maybe it was not the cigarette after all, but just the way you felt this morning, the sun, the icy windows of your appartment, the music you played on your Ipod before taking it out of the pack. So you light another one, to keep the moment intact.
But you know right away it won’t taste the same. Nothing is as good as with the other one. And you just stub it out before you’ve even taken two drags. You feel a bit weird about it.
For a few hours, a few days, anytime you take out a Lucky Light, you think maybe this is the one, maybe it will make you happy again. But it doesn’t.
You hesitate a bit. Should I stop smoking now, because I’ll never find the same sensation ever again? You know it would be better to stop anyway, that you’d feel better off as a non smoker.
But you just keep trying.
K.
décembre 10, 2008 à 3:28
Dear Stupidness,
A tear of whispering shame has sprung from the meadow of her awakening joy. A teenage girl, a rambling rubbish boy mistaken their love as a passionate toy. All night his limbs froze the breaking of day they fear the most. Hail the sleep from the back alleys to the swaying curse of the nightly ghosts. A throbbing orchestra with tender quivers are pulsing up and down the spine of fear. A drop of blood, sweet heartache catches another breathtaking beat. Just a little bit, as the eye slips to rest. How you make me rise from under the radar, when you told me to look out west?
décembre 15, 2008 à 7:41
Private, confidential …..