perks of dating a smoker the nights we used to sit outside staring at darkness you'd break the silence asking if you could "light one", lighter already in hand as if you needed my permission. i kicked and screamed and begged you to stop, but you never listened. now walking in the city where i find my escape i hold my breath as i pass by smokers on their cigarette break, but all i want to do is bury my head in your chest and breathe in the smell of you.

growing up i forget i'm 18 years old most of the time; other times i'm sad, but i'm not unhappy because i can be happy- most of the time. i don't read anymore only blog posts and captions of pictures on instagram. i delete my facebook when i'm sad when people ask me where i went i don't answer. it's been a while since i've written anything. happy things don't inspire me; the papers i'm forced to write are bland and graded with letters. for a couple of years i convinced myself i didn't have feelings. it was easier that way because i could never get hurt. i got hurt for a few months when i met a boy, fell in love, and stopped writing. now we're falling out of love and i'm back to where i started; sad. 18. writing about things that inspire me.