euphoria

when i first starting going out with my sister last summer i had this firm belief that smoking was wrong and since almost everyone in a pub seems to smoke i felt like an original person for being the only one to practice this belief. when my sister would offer me a cigarette i'd recline and think to myself 'she only wants me to take it from her so i'll fall into the same abyss she did when she was younger', probably 11 or so.
i kept thinking this for a surprisingly long time, and when jordan started smoking in autumn i'd criticise him for it, and even when i met 'joe' over new year i encouraged him to quit (and he did for about 2 months). i think back and feel guilt for trying to deny them such a harmless pleasure.
i love lying in bed at night with my window wide open, lighting up a cigarette, watching my exhaled smoke transform into fascinating figures against the navy blueness of the sky.
i love lighting up first thing in the morning with the crystals dangling from my windows creating unique rainbows on my walls; inhaling smoke and keeping it there, as though if i force my lungs to hold as much toxic shit as possible they'll pack in and i won't have to go to school.
that cigarette is what makes the day seem not so bad.
it feels as though the rush i get from every cigarette is mine and mine only. my own private pleasure. it's delicious; it turns my mind into a whirlwind of warm breezes and smiles and the feeling that everything's fine for the next 3 or so minutes.
it's euphoric.
it's noxious; even better.