First hit, you cross my mind again.
Second hit, I think of everything you're doing right now. Things that do not include me.
Third hit, the first hit I ever took with you was magical. I lust for one second with you.
Fourth hit, I really need you. I worry because I do not think that you need me the way I need you.
Fifth hit, I collapse. I come to terms with the fact that you enjoy yourself a lot more when I'm not around. Or at least that's what I tell myself, trying to find some motivation to leave my thoughts behind. We're imaginary after all.