Today I woke up yearning for nicotine. I wanted the dark toxins to coat my fragile lungs and tinge my blood with acid. Lying in the half light seeping through my curtains, I could almost feel the smoke curling down my oesophagus and wrapping itself around my bronchi. The phantom cigarette sat in my fingers, comfortable, as though it had lived there all its life. When I breathed it in, my body knew what to do, as automatic as blinking.
Today I woke up craving a cigarette. But I've never picked one up before, never even tried. Yet after today, I cannot say that I never will. The balance is tipping and I'm falling.