Breathing Smoke

I am a smoker because one day, a boy with brown hair and blue eyes sitting against a tree in the woods offered me a cigarette and I didn’t say no.

I am a smoker because smoking is more socially acceptable than cutting and I used to be a cutter.

I am a smoker because the smoke helps me breath, the smoke helps me think, the smoke helps me clear my head of all the clutter that builds up over time.

I am a smoker because the future terrifies me and painting my lungs black with disease seemed like a better option.

I am a smoker because I give in too easily to my emotions, to my old habits, to my private fears.

I am a smoker because enough will never be enough and letting go is never what it seems.

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In response to the Daily Post’s prompt: Enough Is Enough

 

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