I reached a point not so long ago where I started to hate cigarettes; every one I smoked disgusted me just that little bit more and I started thinking if I didn’t want them, then I didn’t need them either. I don’t know what happened but now in the mornings I’ve gone from one cigarette to two. Two in a row was something I’d never normally do. But I like the nothingness that comes with sitting outside with the mind of a newborn just starting the world for the first time; again. The second cigarette is just something to pass the time with. I guess the longer you spend without someone the more you need things to do to fill the gaps that are their absense. Things that keep your hands busy, and your mind ever moving; distracted enough to avoid that base thought of what you’re really missing… That empty feeling of who you’re really missing, that never seems to leave.