Cigarette ash flies to your eyes and you smiled.

There are many things that I want to do. For one year, I've been trying to cross out this particular item in my TO DO list. But I cannot. What's ironic is all I wanted is to just cross it out...

In that one year, I got back at smoking, when I know it is just not like me.

Everyday, as I watch the ribbons of smoke flail out into nothingness, I remember the times when I was so alive. I flick the cigarette and I watch the ash fall out. I am not sure if it is a beautiful thing or not, but every time I watch the ash fall down, I realize that I want to be the ash that falls out from the cigarette that is your memory.

Beautiful or not, happy or sad, I just want to fall out and die out like the embers that comes from the little ashes. Forget and move, live as free as I can be. As the ash falls down, it will be blown away. Those ashes are helpless, weak and fragile. Like me - I was rendered fragile and hopeless by that one year I tried to get out of the cigarette.

I wanted to burn, burn away and fly. That is all I wanted and for the life of me I wonder why it cannot be given to me. Now, I inhaled another Lung-full of smoke. I wanted it to purge and cleanse me of the feelings that I promised to you that I will never let go. I blew it out, I watch it bored, for I know that like the ash, those smoke will die out in front of me.

And I know, just as sure as the smoke's smell will be pressed upon my shirt, that your memory will not come out. Not even if I buy candy from the girl who sells the cigarettes, nor the nights I pretend that I never knew you at all.

I told myself once to quit, exactly one year ago. Now I am still telling myself that. Will it end? No one knows. But I hope when it does end, I will have the guts to face you and tell to your face that I hated it. I hated this. And I hated you.

Will it end? Of course it will.

We will be alright. Let's just pretend we never knew each other at all.