You smoked about a pack a day and you kept on smoking them because you were addicted and you kept on smoking even though they could **** you and you still kept on smoking even though they were killing you.
Meanwhile, I was loving you, unconditionally; hoping that you’d never and that’d be your last pack.
All the while you kept on smoking and I kept on loving you, but you never noticed because you kept on smoking and the smoke would blur your vision and you never saw me clearly, or maybe you did, and that’s why you kept on smoking.
Because it was better to be addicted to something that kills you rather than one that you’re killing with every inhale you take.