It's funny to think about all the times you asked me to smoke a cigarette with you and I told you it was too cold, so I waited patiently inside, knowing you'd come back.
Now I'd travel to Antarctica if it meant I could smoke a cigarette with you.
Now I smoke alone and the sound of me flicking the end of my cigarette sounds like the side-door to my brain opening and slamming shut--- the one only you have the key for.