I just can’t forget it when it’s sitting right in front of me. Yes I’m chewing my gum and they’re sitting right in front of me. Chew faster., Grind your teeth. Bite your nails. Think of it in between your fingers. Imagine the smoke. Smell it in the air.
Then light one.
No one hated it when I would announce “I need a cigarette,” more than you.
You hated the way they made me smell. You hated how I would smoke three in a row when I was sad. You hated that something influenced me more than you.
You once said to me, “if I could quit, so can you.” And I tried; I always tried for you. I wanted you to be proud of me.
But now that you’re gone, I love them more. It is as if each cigarette is a “fuck you” to all the times I tried to mold myself into something for your approval. For anyone’s approval.
It turns out I am not made of clay, and I will never be what anyone wants me to be.