Missing You

In the last year or so I’ve considered what it might feel like to be a non-smoker. Before that I didn’t bother to think that far past the withdrawals I would experience immediately. Because you just sort of assume that eventually the physical addiction will pass and you’ll be oh so pleased to be smoke free. Under that in the place we don’t like to confront our thoughts we know better. I will never not want a cigarette. I might one day want other things MORE. (health and whatnot) But I will never NOT ever want a cigarette. I guess I have to learn how to live with that. Not getting what I want. I’ll confess it’s a novelty.

This has nothing to do with much of anything.

I’d like you to send me a chip. The kind they give at meetings where no one reveals their name. I would make my own stupid chip but I can’t remember the exact days. You’re so good at that. That slow taper before the sharp edge. The way some people say “I’m going to cut down before I quit” As if you can ever turn off that need once you’ve taught yourself to need it.



 Just…

I miss you.

That is all.

You don’t deserve that.
But it remains yours.
I know you want that bit.
I know you marvel and wonder if
it can be true in the quiet
between sleep and dream.

You have that always.

My missing.

It is yours.