I exhaled slowly, feeling the air go out of my lungs and mouth, and then watching as the last wisp of them disappeared completely. The smoke represented my dreams - going up and disappearing into the thin air. Except, my dreams popped and disappeared like those bubbles that kids loved blowing using water mixed with some form of liquid detergent.
3 years. That's how long I've been friends with the stick. And 3 years since my life became a mess too. Ever since she left. Ever since I started on this job....
Thinking back, I remembered how I used to ask of others to steer clear from smoking. I was even on first-name terms with the harmful effects of smoking, I would tell the friends who smoked, how their lungs was gonna become black and lined with tar, how their respiratory systems gonna be adversely affected, blablablah. And looking at what I cradle between my index and middle finger now, I could only laugh at myself. Life could be such a joke sometimes.
