The last cigarette sat neatly in a torn pack. I pulled it out, and I thought "is this it?". I pondered the possibilities of lighting the last one. Would it last an eternity? Maybe I should have savoured the rest of what I had. It was all I had left, but I lit it anyways. In less time than it took to sort my thoughts, it burned down to the fibers that held it together. The flames were gone and nothing was left. Would it come back? Maybe, but I knew that nothing would be the same.

















