i love smoking

I am on my third day of not smoking, which has reaffirmed in my mind HOW MUCH I LOVE IT. it's glamorous, it's cool, it's sexy, it's deliciously naughty. F.A.C.T.

My first cigarette of the day is my favourite - leaving my flat, stepping into the crisp morning air and announcing my presence in the world with the sharp slick-click of the lighter. i love walking along in high heels and smoking: the clack and the puff synchronised. I can't NOT smoke when waiting for a bus. wearing red lipstick and smoking - also good, and leaves a signature mark in an ashtray. listening to really punchy, upbeat music (Peaches?) on my iPod while walking along (in heels) and smoking - shuts me in my own world. smoking in summer while sucking an Orange Maid - an age old tradition. the cigarette to settle my hangover. the cigarette on the long walk home. sharing a cigarette with someone i fancy - our eyes meet and our lips touch the same place. how will i ever be able to sit outside a cafe in Paris again? and then there's days like today: walking along in the cold and snow, the flare of the cigarette my only protection from freezing misery. when I blow out smoke I can't tell what's smoke and what's breath. bliss. and the snowflakes fizzing on the burning tip: the frisson of every drag.

Giving up feels like going on a diet: except you know you can always go back to scoffing chocolate when the beastly days of sado masochistic deprivation are over. not so with cigarettes. i love smoking. the look, the feel, the singular indulgence and security that comes with having one's own cigarette and loving smoking it. This is HELL.