You've always hated my bad habits; you were always disgusted by the tunneling smoke that lingered in my mouth when we kissed. We had gone on many dates and many times you would pluck the cigarette from my mouth's grasp, discarding it to the floor, continuing our deep conversations. Gravity was no longer relevant; I was encased by your sinister glare, the blue promises they made of forever held me to the ground. It made me want to hold you close and never let you go.
Recently you were in my arms, gazing among the stars and many galaxies afar from us. You were always curious with eternity and the wonders it had to offer. I lit a cigarette and clenched it between my bare teeth and lightly inhaled the smoke. It felt good in my lungs. You snatched it from my mouth, a look of disappointment and decision had been made, yet I had no idea. You told me to quit my bad habits, and so I did, in fear of losing you. We continued laying there, our silence creating opportunity and the distilled air to flow regularly past our blurred faces.
I was walking down the street that lead to your apartment, I had been free of my habit and was excited to tell you. I could imagine you clinging to me with relief, that I had kept the promise I made. I arrived at your apartment and knocked on your door, you did not answer. I waited patiently before I looked into the window. I saw you, your lips pressed against his, and your bare body hung upon his. You, on him.
You had given me up like I had given up my cigarettes.
I walked home feeling nothing other than loneliness and a broken dream, a broken forever. I kept my promise and you threw away ours. The only thing pressed against my lips was another cigarette, it lit my way home and gave me a new wonder. I guess I did need to quit my bad habit. You.
