Last Smoke
My iPhone just buzzed, alerting me to the fact that tonight is exactly 3 years since I smoked my last cigarette. I remember it. I was sitting on my living room couch, alone. It was 11 at night. I specifically left my room to smoke it. The TV wasn’t on, the apartment was silent. Just me and the cigarette. I hadn’t fully formed the thought of quitting yet, but was very aware of this particular cigarette. Very aware of my relationship with the cigarette. I hadn’t fully committed to it being my last so the moment lacked gravity. It was serene actually. A calm before the storm. I didn’t have another cigarette that night and when I woke up the next morning I thought, “I could do this. Right now, this moment… I could do this.”
