I knocked at Heaven's door once. It remained closed, so I knocked again, but there was no response.

"Can you let me home? I feel cold."
The door stayed shut. Perhaps my sins kept it closed.

So I turned to the gate of Hell and knocked. It, too, remained closed. I knocked again, but still no answer came.

"Can you let me home? I feel afraid."
The door stayed shut. Perhaps I haven’t sinned enough to warrant entry.

Troubled, I stood between the two, rejected by both, with no place to call home.

As I plummeted, I cast my gaze skyward.

With a faint smile, I reached out, yearning for a tender hand to halt my descent.

But alas, none came.

The heavens, once radiant, lost their splendor.

I turned my eyes to the abyss below.

Its darkness gripped my soul with terror, yet still, I longed for a thorned hand to seize mine.

But alas, none came.

With all the strength left in me, I cried out.

And then, in the depths of despair, I grasped my own hand.

In that moment, my eyes opened, and I smiled.

As I walked, I felt the weight of strings
Bound to my heart, pulling me back.
I cut one free and moved ahead,
Yet still, the burden made me slack.

Another string I severed with care,
And forward I began to tread.
With each cut, the load grew light,
A smile appearing as I moved ahead.

I glimpsed the place I longed to be,
But strings once more held me tight.
So I cut a few and pressed on still,
My smile growing with the light.

Nearer now, the goal was close,
Yet strings kept tugging, pulling me.
I sliced through more and pushed through,
Determined, I was almost free.

At last, I reached the final step,
The place I’d dreamed of, finally in sight.
I cut the last string and stepped beyond,
A smile wide, yet fading from light.

As I stood in the place I sought,
A question arose, deep and stark:
Who am I now, having shed these strings?
In the silence, I wondered, in the dark.

The acrid scent of burning cigarette fills the air.

I hate that smell.

It sears my lungs.

I still remember how much I hated Cigarettes as a kid.

Yet, I glance at the pack, still full, and pull one out.

I place it between my lips and light it.

Do I love this? Or am I simply trying to convince myself that I do?