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A Smoker’s Journal

The feels of something ending, which has been attached to you for so long is always devastating. Even if it’s something you hate. As I light up what is supposed to be the last cigarette of my life, my soul trembles down. As the first puff hits, my taste buds activate, followed by my lungs which have been hit hard by clouds  of smoke; and for a long time.

The smallest intoxication from the stuff that’s burning, lights up my soul. The fake happiness even for a while seems very comforting to my soul. As the intoxication fades my lungs crave to be hurt even more; to be burnt with the anguish of my ego once again. All the colorful illusions by the intoxication somehow seem very comfortable to my soul. No matter how much I want to come out of them, they never seem to let me go. They’ve chained up my soul to its fake colors and what I perceive as happiness.

All these thoughts seldom hit me hard every time I light-up a cigarette and by the time it finishes, they’re over. All that’s left is guilt of hurting myself. With each puff that I inhale, I make peace with myself hurting me. Each puff never fails to carry that same regret with it. And by the end of it, I am out of the illusions it holds. As the illusions are over they call up my soul, making my lungs to crave even more clouds of smoke; carrying the same regret with each puff, and calling me out to itself yet once again…

-© Aditya Kumar
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