I was walking carrying a fire through the middle of Arctic tundra during December when I decided I had a need so I lit my cigarette from the embers of a fire I had just extinguished

The wind was howling screaming names and carrying faces I had long since forgotten about because the pain of remembering was too unbearable and I hit my cigarette twice as hard

And the more determined I was the fiercer the blizzard grew until my eyes were frozen shut and my fingers too numb too hold on from what I can only describe as frost bite, or maybe just loss of wanting to feel at all

And as frozen as I was I still found a source of warmth inside of what spiritual people call their soul but what I merely call my pride or my inability to admit I was wrong

I hit my cigarette in the midst of barren frozen pain and I realized that no matter the coldness I felt I still found a way to enjoy it