An Old Box of Cigarettes (A Short Story)

A girl that wants to forget the world she's in and the reality she's living as the boy she profoundly loves leaves him all by herself. All that's left of her is an old box of cigarettes.

It was a cold night and I wanted someone to warm me up like you once did. There was no one and my lips found it's way to a filter as I tasted nicotine. I steadily breathe, easing myself slowly yet surely. Yes, it warmed me up, but not as warm as you once were. 

I realized, you're just like this piece of rolled up paper and tobacco. Dangerous yet addictive, relaxing yet intoxicating, a fine line between good and bad. Yet, you felt different, you were much worse. You're just like nicotine, but you brought me more satisfaction yet you also brought me to the brink of self destruction. 

Yes, you're just like a drug, too much and you're purely fucked. I knew about this, yet I obtusely continued, never knowing my own limits. You were slowly and silently wrenching me apart. 

And yes I may have only realized all of these now. At the exact moment my lungs are getting corrupted as black and gray clouds filled it up  to the brim. Yet, I still don't know which is worse. My dry, chapped lips sucking on an end of a stick of cigarette or your sweet, supple mouth attacking every inch of my skin, exposing me more to your unspoken peril. 

But you left and I'm left here acting like you're a drug I can't afford to buy anymore. Like a drug addict who lost everything because of you and your actions. And it's leaving me in need for more of you as I try to replenish this hole in my heart with smoke and tar from this old box of cigarettes I haven't been contiguous with for a long time.