One day, not when you’re old and not a few years from now, you’ll understand, as one who discovers traces of gunpowder on a battlefield, so many words that I and others, like myself, have told you.
One day you will regret the time you lost in the bad decisions of your needy unconscious, because you find yourself immortal and a mistress of the world, not only of this but of all. You will want the clocks to walk backwards so you could share the time badly spent with people, living or dead, who love you, and places, simple or far, that gave you home.
One day you will finally distinguish the momentary pleasure, for a need that camouflages sadness. You will raise your hand to your forehead and you will scream in revolt, because of all the healthy routines you could have adopted, you have chosen the least tiresome and most harmful. Which stained your lungs, blocked your respiratory veins, dried your mouth, bruised your tongue and scratched your throat. Which took your youth, your life!
Smoking isn’t a happy habit …
One day I know that you will realize that when we told you not to smoke, we weren’t confronting you. Or thinking we were better and wiser than you. It was because we required you to love yourself as much as we love you. It was because we wanted you healthy for as many years as possible. It was because it cut our souls, as if cutting the corners of our mouths with a sheet of paper, when we find empty packages of cigarrettes. Whenever your clothes smelled of smoke, your car was smoky, your body was exhaling smoke and your hugs were smoky.
Your soul is filled with doubts and false hopes, I see them. I also see that the only light you light every day on yourself is the flame of the lighter. The only money you spend daily on yourself is on the tobacco machines. The only free time you are on your own, you never are. Victory, suffering, stress, rejection, pettiness, recklessness, defeats, especially defeats, are stimulus and excuses for non-weaning. As if the inhale of the black smoke brought light into your shadows.
You let the tears dry with the smoke you blow through your mouth. You postpone truths, as if you knew the future.
One day you will understand that you have not heard us.
Not to me, not to others like me, not to teachers or dreadful images stamped on the packets of cigarettes. You hear others like you, who say that it is an unequaled pleasure, that the money is yours, that the life is yours and that you only stop smoking when you feel like it.
In these selfish words you deceive yourself and make me want to be equally selfish. You make me want to love you less, in every single time you light a cigarette. Because as Billie Eilish sings, “I can not afford to love someone who isn’t dying by mistake”.
Not on the day you accuse an innocent burglar, you will understand that the thief of your time was you. That you were the one who burned your time out because of your spirit weakness. Only you, without anyone else being worthy of blame.
It was you.
And now it’s you too.
But only one day, when you aren’t old and not a few years from now, you will understand.
I just hope, from the bottom of my little self, that it is not too late. That you are not one of those images that illustrates the packages of death and that you are not dictating your death.
I, and as many others, offer in counsel the love of a life.
In us, in me and many others as me, there is hope that this one day will be today.
Who knows, maybe even now that you change your life for the better.
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