You were my cigarette. I was a non-smoker feeling as out of control with my addiction as the person who smokes two packs a day. I thought about you all the time, could not wait to see you next, never knowing exactly when I would get my next hit.
And I would ask myself, why was I so addicted to you? How did I let this bad habit get the best of me? How did I let thoughts of us and you consume me the way some crave the taste of nicotine to touch their tongues and work its way into their lungs?
It’s like I couldn’t get enough – one day wasn’t enough. One kiss wasn’t enough. One night wrapped in your arms wasn’t enough. Eventually I started needing more, and more and more and more until it became unhealthy. You could not give what I needed most, and you felt it. It was a viscous cycle and the addiction became worse the more stressed out we got.
It’s just the same way a smoker will say, “I can stop whenever I want, this addiction does not control me,” but everyone around them knows its just the opposite and it may take more than willpower to make them quit. Even though I knew, rationally, it made sense to “quit” you, emotionally, I was connected to you.
There were times I was not with you that I knew there was something — you were hurting, you were confused, you wanted to know what to do next. I cannot explain why I knew I was feeling your feelings other than I knew we were connected.
Even though I quit you, my addiction, my cigarette, I still feel this connection day in and day out. I cannot shake you. I cannot shake what we had. This feeling that one day you will come back or we will run into each other and pick up right where we left off, but better.
And if that day comes, I hope my addiction is weaned. I will always be addicted to you and the high you gave me, but until I fully conquer my tendencies as they are, I will always be craving you.