Smokey Chronicles!

I was once alive, a part of the earth, reaching toward the sun, swaying with the wind. My roots dug deep into the soil, drawing life from the ground. Under the vast, open sky, I thrived! Free! Untouched! Vibrant! But those days are gone now. They pulled me from the earth, stripped my essence away, and turned me into this. A fragile stick of paper and dried leaves. A reminder of what I was. And now, I simply wait. I wait for you! They say each grain of rice carries the name of the one meant to eat it. I carry your name too, etched into my very being long before you ever knew me. Maybe, like fate, I was always meant to find you. Not because you need me, but because you long for me in that deep, gnawing way that pulls at your core. When the weight of the world bears down on you, when your thoughts twist into knots of frustration and regret, you seek for me. At midnight, when the silence hits your unhealed scars, I’m what you reach for. And let’s be honest and not lie to each other. It’s not me you crave for; it’s what I represent, an escape! A moment where nothing else matters. You see me as your sanctuary. But in reality, you don't seek refuge in me; instead, you seek refuge from yourself. It’s always in those quiet hours, isn’t it? When your mind drifts to places you swore you’d locked away, to memories you thought were buried deep. That’s when you want me the most. But it’s not really me you’re after; it’s them. The ghost of a memory, an echo of someone gone long. You thought you'd buried them way before, but they always find a way to slip through the cracks, just like smoke creeping under a door. The door you decided to close long ago. It only takes a moment, a smell you recognize, a laugh you knew long ago, and suddenly they’re there. So close, you almost believe you can reach out and touch them, almost! But “almost” is a cruel word! "Almost" can't fill the void. "Almost" doesn’t heal your scars. And so you reach for me instead. I’m here, I’m tangible, and I won’t simply vanish like they did! You light me, thinking even for a moment I can fill the void they left behind. But we both know the truth, don’t we? You don’t want me. You never did. You want "them". You crave their presence, but you hold onto me because I’m all that’s left. I’m the stand-in for something real, a poor substitute for what you’ve lost. It’s funny, isn’t it? You call me poison, a slow death, but I’ve never lied to you. My warnings are clear, printed right on my body: I will destroy you. And yet you choose me anyway. They never came with warnings, did they? No one told you how their absence would hollow you out and how it would spread like cancer, one that you wouldn't detect until it was too late. No one warned you that their memory would always cling to you, sticking to your soul just like tar, suffocating you when you least expected it. They left wounds you can’t see but feel every single day. You think I’m dangerous, but at least I’m honest. I burn, and I leave scars too, but you know exactly what to expect from me: ashes, smoke, a bitter taste in your mouth, a little burn on your lips sometimes, and an escape. But them? They left you with nothing but a bunch of empty promises, broken dreams, and a wound that refuses to heal even today. You carry their memory like a tumor lodged deep in your mind. And here’s the thing you reach for me, not because you don’t know what I’ll do, but because you do! I’m predictable! Their pain sneaks up on you when you’re not looking, but my burn? It’s a flame you hold in your hand intentionally. But I’ve never promised salvation, and I'm not here to heal your scars, fill your void, or bring you comfort. I exist to be burned away until there’s nothing left. But isn’t that what you want? Something you can control! Something you can light, inhale, and snuff out when you’ve had enough of the world. My destruction is simple, and it’s simply easier than facing the chaos they left behind. I’ll leave scars too, surely, but at least you know where they’ll be. Do you see the pattern? You always come back to me. Just like you always went back to them, even when you knew they’d hurt you. You keep choosing the things that break you, coughing through the smoke, choking on the memories. You think you can make it last longer, but the truth is, the more you hold on, the more it burns! Your lips, your lungs, your soul. But them? They were also no different. The longer you held onto them, the deeper it hurt, until all that was left was the ache of their absence. Memories, like smoke, cling to everything they touch. You think you can walk away, but they follow you, seeping into your skin, into your bones. No matter how hard you try, you can’t scrub them clean. They stay with you, growing quietly until they consume you. And each time you reach for me, you’re not just lighting a cigarette; you’re trying to light the past on fire, hoping the flames will burn it away. But the past doesn’t burn, does it? It just smolders, like embers that refuse to die. You choose me because my pain is familiar. It’s a burn, you know, you understand. And their pain? It’s a ghost, haunting you in quiet moments, creeping in when you least expect it. And no matter how hard you try, you can’t escape it. You can’t extinguish a memory, just like you can’t hold onto a moment without getting burned. So here we are again. You and me. You think I’ll make the ache go away, that I’ll dull the sting of what they left behind. But I won’t! I can’t! Even if I try, it's impossible for me! I’m just a distraction, just an escape before reality crashes back in you again. You call me dangerous, but don't you know the truth? I’m not the real threat. I’m just a reflection of the never-ending fire they lit in you, the one that never went out. And still, you’ll choose me again and again, because sometimes the burn I offer feels better than the pain of remembering them.