i think my blood has gone cold.
i need a smoke. maybe just need the scent to remind me of you.
i don’t even like inhaling. i get light headed and feel queasy. i don’t know if that happens to anyone but me. maybe it’s my heart battling my lungs and my mind.
i couldn’t stand to see you smoke when i was younger. it filled me with an anger i can’t describe for no reason other than it hurt to see you hurt yourself. i swore to myself i would never become addicted to cigarettes because it just made me angry to see you and dad smoke them all the time.
i had a phase last year around this same timeframe where i started smoking. i never liked it. i think i just did it to get out of the house a few times a week because even though no one really bugged me there was always a tension i couldn’t explain to even myself if i tried. dad found out and told me you’d be mad if you knew i was stealing cigarettes from you, or that you’d somehow find out. but that’s not how addicts of over twenty years act and i know that.
you found out and you asked me what changed. i don’t think anything changed because i only promised myself i wouldn’t become an addict. i still hate the stench. to this day. when i would see you smoke my knee jerk reaction until the very end was to steal your cigarettes so you couldn’t smoke them anymore and i know that’s childish but i’ve had that same thought process ever since i was tiny. i remember one time i told you i sometimes thought about doing that and you told me it’d be pointless because you’d just buy more. that made the most sense to me out of anything you had ever said to defend your addiction before.
