final act of love

It is not the nicotine that keeps them coming back It is the way a cigarette feels like a pause button in a world that never stops talking A thin line of smoke rises and suddenly the noise softens life steps a little farther away and breathing feels like something they can control again People do not hold a cigarette just for the burn in their lungs They hold it for the silence between each inhale for the way it turns pain into something gentler for the moment it lets their thoughts settle like ash drifting to the ground It is a tiny ritual that says Give me a minute let me breathe let me forget everything that is hurting me Not healing in the way doctors talk about but in the way a tired heart understands a small fragile comfort a way to escape reality long enough to survive coming back to it. Author:Yūrei_tamashii