The initial rush is so much, that visions take you else where. You wouldn’t want to miss an instant, savouring every nuance of your new found – vice (?). Hormones run riot as elation grips your thoughts with such dominance quite unknown. Time has a queer way of subsiding initial bliss. You no longer feel the initial high, that has now transcended into a hypodermal level. It eats into you, calming your daily senses. Time twirls again, and the urge translates into need, necessity and inevitably into a routine. It is no longer what it was initially, which is what you sought. But time – the bitch that it is, is not forthcoming with that until long. You try to shy away but it’s too late. It’s eaten so much into you, that you need it at every instant, reassuring your senses, perceptions, and dictating your actions. You’re comforted.
One day, your mom finds out!?
And you’ve got to quit from your comfort zone. It’s an addiction now, you realize. Every muscle quivers demanding you don’t quit. The time has come you did. You’re mind hears none of it. Screaming, throwing things around, unleashing tantrums. It definitely has to go now. You sit in solitude not knowing what you would do next, because by now, such is it’s power, you cannot imagine creating a living with such an absentee. It consumes your inners and you’re terribly ill in withdrawal.
You slowly think of things in life before it entered. You go back to what life was before, sensing it’s absence at every turn. It pains, and several times you’re a whisker away from bringing it back into your life. Mom looms large and you don’t give in to the temptation. Life goes on.
The story of cigarettes, drugs and love.
