And suddenly there's a flame.
A unexpected source of heat that burns.
Burns through not only the cigarette.
But my mind.
My Grandfather was an avid smoker.
Whenever I see both of his hands in his pocket, two things came out.
His pack of cigarettes.
That look in his eyes burned very much like the lighter.
Swaying back and forth and so full of energy.
Slowly raising that white stick to his mouth.
And setting it aflame.
Whenever I see his hands place the lighter and pack of cigarettes back in his pocket, two things came out.
And the cigarette away from his mouth.
His heavy sigh he gave as he exhaled that puff of smoke told me that he was ashamed.
Ashamed that he has done it yet again.
The smell of the cigarette becoming his now natural cologne.
That same smell that brings me to think of him.
The smoke of the cigarette blinding his vision.
That same smoke that clouds my thoughts of everything but him.
The sight of a cigarette taunts not only him, but me as well.
It taunts him for more.
It taunts me for wanting him more.
Both of us know we can't have it again.
Yet we both crave for it.
Crave for what we desire the most.....