I love the way he smokes. The way he drops everything he's doing and whips
out a pack, probably a half finished pack. He doesn't tap it like the rest
of the idiots do; he just wants one in his mouth. He pulls one out and
bites down on the filter and then wraps his lips around the butt. Then he
would pat down his body, trying to find a fire source, he would always find
his trusty Zippo in his back left pocket. Half tilting his head, using his
left hand to shield the wind, he would light his long awaited cigarette.
After a long drag, he tilts his head backwards and stares at the sky,
letting the nicotine run through his body and breath out the smoke slowly
as if he's sorry to be parting with it. After the first inhale, he would
look around for a place to sit, preferably in solitary and in silence. He
wants to enjoy his short five minutes in peace, without the problems of
this world, his world.
He doesn't try to be cool when he smokes, maybe that's why it's so attractive. He started in seventh grade, trying to be cool but it's evolved to be a normal part of his life, like eating and drinking. It's always been an escape for him. No one likes his second hand smoke. It is his way of keeping everyone away.
As he said to me one time, "The best cigarette is the first one. The one that you smoke at six in the morning with a cup of hot black coffee. Everyone is just beginning to wake up. You hear the world around you beginning to stir, yet you know this moment belongs to you. You are enjoying your own little piece of heaven that no one take away or can they understand because you are the only one in that exact position at that exact time. The person that I marry would be the only other person that understands the complacent feeling of sitting in silence watching nature telling you it's a brand new day, feeling the sun getting hotter on your face, and listening to the world waking up around you."
After he ranted to me, I begin to wake up before the rest of the world and filling the apartment with the aroma of French roasted coffee. I want to understand this feeling of satisfaction with the simple things in life. I want to know why this makes him happy. I want to share the moment with him. I want... I want so many things that I know will never be mine...
He doesn't try to be cool when he smokes, maybe that's why it's so attractive. He started in seventh grade, trying to be cool but it's evolved to be a normal part of his life, like eating and drinking. It's always been an escape for him. No one likes his second hand smoke. It is his way of keeping everyone away.
As he said to me one time, "The best cigarette is the first one. The one that you smoke at six in the morning with a cup of hot black coffee. Everyone is just beginning to wake up. You hear the world around you beginning to stir, yet you know this moment belongs to you. You are enjoying your own little piece of heaven that no one take away or can they understand because you are the only one in that exact position at that exact time. The person that I marry would be the only other person that understands the complacent feeling of sitting in silence watching nature telling you it's a brand new day, feeling the sun getting hotter on your face, and listening to the world waking up around you."
After he ranted to me, I begin to wake up before the rest of the world and filling the apartment with the aroma of French roasted coffee. I want to understand this feeling of satisfaction with the simple things in life. I want to know why this makes him happy. I want to share the moment with him. I want... I want so many things that I know will never be mine...