The Last Smoke

Sitting on the bench, the fallen leaves notified of the coming of winter.The cigarette was already half gone, smoked away amongst all the thoughts between the rights and wrongs, practice and abstinence, yesterdays and tomorrow.



He now completely understood where his folly lay, and with it he also understood that he could not have avoided them. It dawned on him that he could only learn, and learn as he might, there were always other crimes he would commit.Against himself and others.There were many more, he realized, that would come cloaked under urgency and chance.He would just have to embrace them, so will his pride.

Still, he couldn't help but miss certain times, and need certain second chances. Some mistakes happen and leave us hurt, and time pulls out the first aid box and we grow out of them.Some mistakes though, stay with us, stinging us from the inside fully shielded against the clock's power to heal.They stay cause we can't let go of them, they stay cause they become us, and we grow with them.
The cigarette was almost done now, and he knew the last hurdle for tomorrow to creep into his life had just a few drags to live.He did not like tomorrows anymore.They were now unkind.He seemed to have ticked them off with his utter disregard for today.It was a sad way to live, but it was just the way it was.

He sighed and breathed in the last of the glowing red.