I smell them….On your clothes, on your hair, in your office. It follows you. It is part of the smell that is ‘you’. Even after your shower, I smell it from your pores.
I taste them….As you kiss me, I taste them. Even after the mouthwash, it comes from your lungs. Your kisses have always tasted this way. I wonder if I would miss it if you quit.
I will admit, that even after considering myself ‘quit’, I have smoked….when drinking. Not with family…not that. But with friends. And I will return home and not want one. Not a single one. No matter what I am doing or not doing, I have no desire…..
I see your pack lying on your desk….open. You smoke so much and I wonder if you would miss one, or two, or four, if I took them to smoke at my leisure. I can see myself sneaking one when I go downstairs to do laundry. The basement is primarily my domain. Would you know? Would you taste them on my kisses? Would you smell it on my hair? My clothes?
I spend my days alone. Would you know if I walked to the store and bought an entire pack? Would you pop in suddenly while in the area and smell the lingering smoke I sneaked when I was in the bathroom? Would you notice more butts in your ashtray? The ones I smoked while I had my morning coffee?
This hasn’t happened.
It could. I know it could happen very easily. Is this how an alcoholic feels when they are ‘on the wagon’? Is this how every addict feels? Sometimes I want a cigarette so fucking bad. I want to feel that first fresh inhale. I want to feel that last drag burn my lip. I know I’ll hate the aftertaste. I’ll hate the smell. I’ll hate knowing that my shampoo isn’t what will make my hair fragrant.
But sometimes…..just sometimes…..I want it so bad…..