smoking is injurious to health

sorry maa

i wonder if names can stain the way smoke does—seeping into fabric, settling into skin, refusing to wash out no matter how hard you scrub. maybe i should stop signing my name in full. just the first letter now, quick and careless, like an exhale. a name shouldn’t feel like a weight. shouldn’t feel like something that clings. but sometimes, i say it out loud just to hear how it sounds in an empty room. sometimes, i whisper it into my palms like a secret i’m not ready to share.

i should start smoking. let it curl into my lungs, eat away my time, maybe even me. it would make the days pass easier at home. house. it’s just a house now. hostel more than a home—three roommates, all good people. i’m the spoiled one, the ruined one. like a cigarette already burnt down to the filter. it would be fitting if i smoked. imagine standing by the window, watching the city smear itself in neon and dust, exhaling something heavier than air. would it make my voice rougher, my thoughts quieter? would it carve out space between my ribs, or would it just fill what’s already hollow?

my mother used to say prayers are like incense: drifting upwards, fading into the sky, leaving behind the faintest trace of something holy. i wonder if mine ever made it past the ceiling. she also used to say bad habits settle into the body like guests overstaying their welcome. that once something lingers long enough, it becomes a part of you. i wonder if grief works the same way. if you let it stay too long, does it become something you can’t live without?

it’s thursday. the house smells like gujiya, thick and sweet, clinging to the air. better than the sharp sting of floor cleaner. i wonder how long the smell will last. will it slip into the fabric of my hoodie, hide in my hair? will i carry it with me when i step out the day after tomorrow? or will it fade by morning, replaced by something colder, something sharp?

outside, the sky is an exhausted shade of blue. the kind that fades too easily, slipping into night without a fight. i used to think about running away at this hour, just walking until i didn’t recognize the streets anymore. now, i just sit by the window, counting the headlights, inhaling deep like i already smoke.