it'd be okay

So, I'm dying for a cigarette.

A cover of a song from years before I was born is blasting through my speakers. I know all the words, second-hand. I'm laying down, reclined against a window, in my bed. It's built for two, but I'm the only one who uses it. Laundry fills the gaps between here and the walls, my two doors that don't close correctly, empty packs of cigarettes. I used my finger open all the packs I saw, in case I had forgotten a cigarette down in a crease. Of course I haven't, but I look anyway.

And I curse gas stations for not accepting large bills.

But it's been two days since I've had a smoke and I think I'll be fine. Maybe I should stretch it out and see how long I can last. If anything, I can take it slow. Maybe bum one occasionally when the want gets too bad. It seems I'm learning to give up all the things I care about, recently. Cigarettes, various media, games, my relationships. But it's a lot better to give it up than to have it yanked away from you, I think. Although, I don't really know what I'm talking about.

Maybe if I loved you a bit less, it'd be okay.