She never smoked cigarettes because she was addicted, nor the fact she felt like she needed them or even desperately desired them.
She smoked cigarettes because she felt as if when her breath touched the air the two made love just for a moment, the twist, and the turns. The seemingly never ending spirals.
She smoked to get away from reality for a moment, to pretend her lips were the fire that ignites a forest. The rock that fell into the ocean creating waves.
She smoked for all the reasons we are never told, the hazards of smoking. Not just nicotine poising, blacked lungs, yellow teeth any of those things.
But the hazards of finding fantasy in a rolled up paper filled with death.
She smoked because reality made her feel minuscule.
