Capnophobia.

t w o

I saw her again.

At school - she stood erected, leaning against a white wall.

I hid the packet of cigarettes in my pocket and walked up to her.

Her grey eyes shot open, they looked so sad.

Capnophobia, what's wrong?

That's what I call her.

She glared at me and left, but her smell still lingers around the room.

It's autumn and spring is still alive.

I think Capnophobia doesn't like me, but that's okay.

I smell like a cigarette.

It doesn't surprise me.

I met her a couple of times today.

She was picking daisies in the garden of our school.

Her friends surrounded her, but she seemed sad.

She seemed dead.

It was going to be winter soon, she'll die, because she's spring with winter as a disguise.

She's Capnophobia, she dislikes that warm smoke that I love so much.

She's Capnophobia and I already love the thing I hate so much.

She's Capnophobia, not just a life on Earth.

She might just be the reason why I stop inhaling smoke.

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