cigarette packs take a lot longer to finish without you. we were always sharing my cigs. even such a personal moment, a private ritual that is smoking, i shared with you. there was not a single part of me that wasn’t willing to give you everything. i shared so much that, with time, you became an extension. now i suffer the neurosis of this disorienting loss of your half. i mourn your presence as if you passed away; perhaps that part of me died when we became apart. perhaps you had taken her with you, a domestic kidnapping, so i’m grieving what was stolen, or killed - what i spent so much time protecting because i knew living without it would be devastating to me. it is really devastating. even more when i notice how many cigs i still have left.