There is a man, somewhere, that is about to grab his hair with both hands and nearly rip it out of his skull by the roots because he is having ******* withdrawals after having decided to stop several days ago.
At this very moment, a woman is crying on her porch, her legs drawn to her chest as she mourns the death of her husband the day before by putting a cigarette to her lips for the first time in 3 years, inhaling familiarity.
Tonight, some 20 year old recovering alcoholic put his back to the wall and slowly let himself slide down, sitting with his feet in front of him.
Leaning his head back and closing his eyes, he let out a breath he had been holding for 70 days as he felt the accustomed burn of alcohol in his throat.  
Logically, it is easy for me to process these things because as a child, I was thoroughly educated on the addictive chemicals found within drugs and alcoholic drinks.
Yet, I was never taught about the addictive qualities in a person.
I never knew it was physically possible to ache from the soles of my feet to the top of my head because your arms were medicinal for my limbs.
I was not aware that my teeth would begin to chatter when a year had gone by since your finger last ran across my bottom lip.
I was not ready for the nights where I would stay awake until sunrise because I could not sleep without hearing your voice before I closed my eyes.
I may not have injected heroine into my system but you injected love straight into my bloodstream and there is no amount of water that will allow me to wash this out and be clean.
You are a tempting bottle of whiskey that sits in my kitchen every day after I say I'm going to stop drinking,
and even smoking 4 packs a day will not rid me of the withdrawals of the faint smell of cigarettes on your clothes when you were asleep next to me.
If there were a rehab for me to go to, I would go,
because this habit will be a lot harder to break than biting my nails.
-c.g