Smoking

I don’t regret smoking, but I regret the time that caused cancer. The stolen moment of peace away from the bustle of life, bonding with the other slaves to their hedonic nature. Thoughts clouded, lungs burning and yet I wouldn’t change a thing, aside from the emphysema.

My first time, a gilded sepia tone memory. Picturesque setting, surrounded by friends memories and novelty. The thousandth time, anxious and alone doing anything to take my mind off the sting of heart break. The ten thousandth time, habitual, mindless and colored with shame. All of them helping me be who I want to be, aside from the asthma.

Growing up being babysat by an angel with an oxygen mask - I will never become that, at least, not from just one cigarette.