How can a lithe piece of paper filled with tobacco be so fatally attractive in the eyes of some?
What's good company when someone is better friends with the cigarette?
Needing their company every five minutes rather than yours.
Does one not realise that as they joviantly laugh at the grotesque picture on the pack, that picture is nonchalantly becoming their reality?
Riddle me why it is not self indulgent to be paying to kill yourself slowly but surely?
And 50 years on, the tobacco stained skin, the husky voice and the lined face don't quit when you do.
But behind the anger it evokes, the naivety it exposes, the scars it leaves, maybe, just maybe one day, you will see why it hurts more than anything else. You will see when one of the people you love the most gets lung cancer 30 years after he has quit. But his 40 years of not having quit came back to haunt him. Because unfortunately it put up the unbeatable battle. And just when you think you've won you find that 5 years on he dies because his lungs are too scarred to keep working.
And now, maybe now, you can begin to fathom why it is the hurt that outweighs all the rest.
And that now the rest means rest in peace.
And the good bye you used to say to him, you instead have to say to his coffin.
I miss you Grandad.