oh yeah i did.

Rewind to Spring Break of my Sophmore year: I stopped smoking, a sudden cold turkey move-a these smokin' sticks are a-killing me- a, oh shit this might give me cancer- my teeth are yellow and I'm obsessed with the cleanliness of them deal. Don't ask. I quit. It's complicated. My logic is flawed in subjectivity and doesn't make sense.

So I quit. One day, I just stopped. I threw away all my cigarettes.
Since then, I have only smoked when I'm very very drunk.

Fast forward to today: I smoked a cigarette. It was beautiful and calming and everything I remember it to be. And hot damn it was delicious.


Rewind to when I was six: [backstory, My mother's a nurse, she's blunt and lovingly aggressive]

I told her I wanted to smoke. I thought nothing of it and went to bed. While she was working her night shift, she gathered photos of lung cancer. I think this might of been illegal.

She came home early that morning and while I was sleeping she hung them all over my room. I woke up to sun streaming through my windows, onto pictures of cancerous lungs hanging from my walls. i lived in the attic so the walls were slanted (like a roof) and so they hung directly in front of your face. If you've never seen a cancerous lung, its disgusting. Seeing them at the age of six is something that'll scar you. Seeing them first thing in the morning, right in front of your face, well, that's something that doesn't really leave your memory. ever.