I burn through friendships like a smoker’s last pack of cigarettes; it’s hard to kill the addiction when the past has the best aftertaste. It now feels unnatural to pack our memories tight and watch them burn and roll off the curb. Your laughter was secondhand and I was naive to assume we were joking together.
You granted me the freedom to be myself but I never read the fine print. You granted me the freedom to find a stereotype you thought suited me best and tailored to your needs, without taking note of my measurements. I was willing to give you the shirt off my back but I know now you’d find that insulting.
It’s hard to love someone who flicks their cigarette at you and pays no mind to where the ashes may fall. I burn through friendships like a smoker’s last pack of cigarettes, and you left me before I could light our last one.