Burn, Baby. Burn.

I held the cigarette with the tips of my index finger and thumb, taking the last drag from the stump, feeling the heat rush through the filter and scorch my lips. I could’ve just taken another cigarette and lit one but I didn’t. And if you ask me why, I honest to God don’t know. It’s not the first time I did it, which means I’m already aware of the burning feeling I’d feel. But I still do it anyway. And I’m still surprised when it happens.
Maybe I have a slow learning curve. Maybe I don’t learn from my lessons at all. If I fully know that something is going to be painful and yet do it anyway, what does that say about me?
Could I have possibly expected that this time around it would be different? That somehow the pain would be different? And if that is the case, how much does my expectation – unrealistic and illogical as it may be – define me?
I’m babbling, I know. I can’t help it. Lately it gets harder to find a muzzle that would fit for the voices in my head.
And are we even still talking about cigarettes anyway?

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8 thoughts on “Burn, Baby. Burn.

  1. Oh my god…is this another “Love” thing??? sorry I haven’t contact you for quite a long time, been pretty occupied with work and I am not feeling well lately.

    • LOL. You work hard for the money, that’s for sure. Sorry to hear about the canceled vacation. Hope you two can go soon. Better yet, take me along! 😛

  2. I was not talking about cigarettes. Who said that? Me. Who are you? You. You’re putting me on. No, really. Then why didn’t you say something before? I was waiting. For what? For an opening. Well, you ‘ve got one now, kid… Thank you, in that case I would just like to say… Enough. Alright.
    TOG

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