You’re alive. You’re here. You’ve made it through another day and though there are 365 of them every year and you’ve lived through thousands before, you made it through this one. The world is a better place because you are here, living through another today.
I look over at her, quizzical.
She points to the cigarette dangling from my mouth and gives me the basic line that everyone says to a smoker.
“It’s not healthy.”
“I could stop smoking at any given moment, yknow.” As I crush the supposed “cancer stick” to the dirt, resisting the urge of an eye-roll.
She’s watching me, obviously waiting for an explanation. God, why does she care? No one ever has before.
“It wouldn’t be hard, I mean, I’m not addicted or anything. ”
She laughs and suddenly I’m trying to ignore how good it sounds.
“Isn’t that what all addicts say?”
Judging by the look on her face, I know that wasn’t the answer she wanted.. so I stopped sugar coating it.
“I just don’t stop because I’d rather kill myself in a way that’s more..socially accepted. People don’t notice as much- they call me a smoker, not suicidal. I like it that way.