I know you

I know you, cigarettes. I know those teeny serrated marks at the halfway point on your filter. I know the way that same filter turns from white to yellow/brown depending upon the type mood you're catering to. I know the flick measurement to avoid an uneven burn or unintended ash near missing the tray. Though, sometimes I smoked absentmindedly. No, almost always. As natural as breathing was supposed to be i enhanced it with substance. Used, abused, fused. When I had great joy, I smoked. When I had great anger, I smoked more. No matter the emotion, down to none at all, I smoked. It wasn't an accessory it was a permanent attachment. A part of me. Now, it isn't.