Smoke

I take one last puff to my cigarette as I see the fire burning it, and killing it forever.

As the smoke rings fly across the air, I think of the memories that this killing pleasure brings to me. Both, good and bad ones.

I remember my mom, making soap bubbles with smoke inside while I make her smoke another and another cigarette just to make me happy seeing the bubbles floating before exploding in a mix of water, soap and smoke. I was just 7 years old.

I remember some friends, I remember how we share the smoke of the hookah, and I can't help thinking on how friendship can end just because of simple things, that you don't notice until it's too late.

I remember how my dad quit this toxic joy after having pneumonia, for his own health, and suffered a much worse destiny, just for doing stupid things with alcohol, and a tree. Falls from trees can be more dangerous than you would ever think they are.

I know smoking kills me, and I know I shouldn't do it, but I think on the lifestyle I would love to have, singing, acting, having fun... living.

You know what they say, live fast, die young, and let a beautiful corpse.

I'm not saying that I do it because it's cool, and nor because I'm addicted to it, I just feel that it's what I feel like doing right now, no matter what people tell me.

I've noticed, that my future is just like the smoke that my cigarettes create, blurry, light, and you never know where it's going to go, unpredictable, and driven by then wind... will I ever know who I am? Will I ever fulfill my dreams? I don't really know it, and I don't really care, I just wanna be free and fly through the different surprises that life has prepared for me.

PD: Perdón por la entrada en inglés, pero es una entrada de pensamientos propios, de la persona que quiero ser, y siento que es el idioma que mejor me representa, si alguien no lo entiende, sois libres de preguntarme.