the putrid smell of cigarette smoke and cheap whiskey breath feels like home. His arms felt like home, too. I knew him as the boy who’d party all night and make plans with me the next day only to sleep the whole time. I knew him as ****** noses from ******* and the young emphysemic cough that would **** a small part of me every time I heard it. I knew him as that big, stupid ******* smile. I knew him as the boy who’d ride his bike to my house but would always be too worn out to ride his bike with me. I knew him as far too charming for his own good. I knew him as perfectly imperfect. I know him as cold and unempathetic. I know him as the boy who refused to get on the phone with me for closure. I know him as unstable. I know him as manipulative. I know myself as someone who will never be more important than *******. I know myself as someone who will never be more important than cigarettes. I know myself as just another doll who was tossed to the side by a child who got bored. The fetor of a coffin nail and the acidic aroma of Highlands Red still reminds me of him— but only the version of him that I knew.