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A flick of the wrist.

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A flick of the wrist. The ash falls, catching the wind, landing near my unsuspecting feet. The ember glows glows glows, a steady orange of burning, showing itself off with each puff. Smoke escapes slowly from the slightly parted lips. The smoke moves upward, coiling itself around each member of the group. A quick drag, an intake of breath and smoke, the soft sizzle of the ash and paper as they burn a little more. Grimacing but trying for a smile, you marvel at the sweet sting of the smoke at the back of your throat, at the swift relief it brings. Exhaling lazily, the ash gets cast off yet again, and the cycle continues.


Comfort. Like an oversized blanket or a favorite pair of jeans. Direct eye contact and a hand on my leg. A smile to say that I’m okay, You’re okay, We’re all okay. Nobody’s judging and the past eventually gets forgotten. So live it up, baby. Live your life with excesses. Override that voice in your head that always says “no” with a good strong “Yes.” So live it up, baby. Find your place and fill it. Take today and look to tomorrow.

A flick of the wrist.

Smoke escaping.


A quick drag.

The cycle continues.





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