smoke

You know how there's usually a voice of reason that tries to overpower the impulse? How sometimes there's that voice that says, "If you do that, you'll regret it because __________" and somehow it prevails, if only on occasion?

It is not a terribly deep moment. We're walking to his car after he so graciously offered to take me home. Dark grey clouds are slowly rolling in and the air smells cool and fresh. I haven't known him that long, but his calm demeanor and efforts to make conversation make me strangely comfortable, despite the overwhelming aroma of cigarette smoke on his clothing. I have forgotten his long, thin limbs and welcoming posture, the way he carries himself with shy stability. I'm surprised the image of his face had escaped me as well: the small, square chin, high and delicately shaped cheeks, and the kind, protected eyes that couldn't possibly be hidden behind his wire-rimmed glasses. I find myself wanting to look longer than I should at the beautifully simple lines of his body; the small yet heartwarming grin, a permanent shape on his soft lips makes me feel accepted.

I guard myself. This is nothing new, as of a year or so ago. Although, what I find strange is that my impulse, to blurt out an excuse and get out of the car, is being surpressed by the more confident, convincing voice that's telling me to stay longer and enjoy his company. Nevermind the smoke. Nevermind the way he is, the place he's at. Nevermind the fact that I could be with someone I know and am already comfortable with. What's life without risk, without excitement?

It's so strange that more persuasion comes from the part of me that wants to go back to that world I almost reached once upon a time. Even though the idea has always seemed entirely unappealing, I always knew it was just... there. Right next to me. Yet I've been listening to the voice of logic for so long that emotional reasoning just seems ridiculous.

I need a smoke: I need a shade of grey that can comfortably host my mind and heart. I need my narcotic--my dose of comfort in a time of subconsciously desired responsibility and wisdom seeming beyond my years. I long for a taste of what I never had and what made everyone else feel okay. I want to blow away self-consciousness as a puffy cloud of foul comfort. I wish it was all as simple as one flick of a flame.