Cigarette Smoke



It takes a very broken man to realize that he cannot be with the one he loves. 


He lit up his fourth cigarette. His fingers trembled, his eyes were red. It was December, midst winter and a cold wind made him shiver.  He has not slept for days and oh, how he could it feel in his bones.  He misses her.  He misses her more than the smoke in his lungs, more than the fresh air he would have inhaled if she was near.  


He used to smoke cigarettes whenever he felt alone or stressed. But once he met her, she told him to quit and so he did. Now it is  3AM and he was alone, drunk on liters Vodka, throwing up in an abondoned alley of Grafton Street. 

She had told him to quit more than once but now she was not there to put him back on his feet so he lit up another cigarette, hoping it would numb the pain. Hoping he could forget her name. 




But the pain did not stop. The twelve shots he shoved down his throat just half a hour ago, did not help either.  Drunk or sober, she was the only thing on his mind. 


" Give me one, good reason to quit?" he had yelled at her when she started to whine about his addiction once again. 

" I love you" she had shouted.  The words trembled on her lips. 


Someday you will kiss someone and you will know that those lips are the lips you want kiss for the rest of your existence. And he swore that when he kissed her, he could taste the next 50 years of his life. 


But he did not say it back. 

He was an absolute jerk for not saying anything at all. 


Tears were falling down his face just like the snowflakes around him. 

It was December, midst winter and all he wanted was to curl up next to her on the sofa, drinking hot chocolate and play with her hair.

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