My first love was like my first whiff of a cigarette --
Strong. Overwhelming. Suffocating.
(It was a stick of Marlboro Red if anyone's asking)
Was it too much for someone
who's never smoked or loved in their entire life?
Perhaps. Yet, there I was -- willing to fall forward,
into the abyss of the novelty of it all.
And I did.
Fall -- with the click of the lighter.
Falling -- with each inhale.
Fallen -- with each exhale.
It's been days, weeks, months, years.
I've had lighter cigarettes, flavored love,
and I still get overwhelmed and choke
and tear up even at the first whiff.
But I guess, that's where the charm is.
Not with the ashes that fall to my feet,
but the delicate pressure of lips,
the heat it holds hands with.
The beauty lies in going through the motions.
