"Player's Light, large king," I smiled with practiced ease, and soon sauntered into the evening, tearing celephane like wrapping paper. The cigarette didn't, I admit, taste good, but there was a certain satisfaction to inhaling smoke again (and, yes, it got me a little high).
I can't blame the collapse on my inner voice or anything else. Nothing was telling me I could "just have one" or that I'd beaten the demon. I just - god damn it - wanted a smoke and decided I didn't care this meant I would likely as not end up back in the smokers' parade.
Bought and smoked most of another pack the next day. But Sunday - somehow - I didn't. I lost myself in a haze of that other weed and managed to control the cravings. All the way until Wednesday - the fourth week anniversary of my break with Siya.
I end up at a local watering hole after work with - yes - a fresh pack of smokes to join my beer.
The following flowed from my pen into the purple journal with which Siya herself gifted me shortly before telling me our Relationship was over.
A Broken Heart Is Slow to Heal
Wednesday, November 20, 2002 - Mezro's
What is there to sayabout a broken heart that hasn't been said a thousand times? How strange, that such a universal experience calls forth such singular expressions of it. (Is now the time, I wonder, to re-read Elizabeth Smart?)
Well. It's been 4 weeks (pondering this sentence, I only just realized tonight marks an anniversary of sorts - perhaps that goes some way towards explaining why I have felt especially sad today). And today, almost everything reminds me of Siya. Try to anesthetize myself as I might - with Star Trek: Enterprise; with Super Collapse; a bowl of weed; beer and scotch - I cannot escape the mournful keen that suffuses my spirit. [Transcriber's note: Please forgive that last line - I had finished my scotch and was into at least my second beer by that point.]
I miss her laughter, her jokes and the odds things Chinese grammar sometimes does to her English. I miss holding her through the night, miss waking her with my kisses; I miss cooking for her and cuddling her oh so close on my couch, afterwards.
Christ. I miss bringing her flowers, and hearing the magic words, "I love you." I miss saying those words, too.
Far from great art, I confess.
Some while later I wove my way home and found Siya online via ICQ. We chatted for a while and I confess I did not spare her a report on my feelings - she signed off rather abruptly, claiming she had to sleep, but I couldn't (and can't) help wonder if I drove her off.
Since then, I've been practically chain-smoking, but the gloom seems to be lifting. I awoke this morning - despite the fact it being Monday meant I had to come into the office (from whence comes this missive - it's a nicely slow day, thus far) - tired, but in better spirits than I have experienced probably since the day Siya told me it was over.
Yesterday was a productive day, involving a lot of organizing and filing, tossing of useless junk and even - brave boy - going through photos from the past few months. I separated out the duplicates which would interest Siya and found, quite to my surprise, that it didn't hurt too much to see them.
I took pleasure in the memories they brought back, as well as simply enjoying photos of a beautiful woman the way a man will (yes, especially the nudes), but I could feel the sadness receding and wondered, "Is this 'acceptance' coming over the horizon?"
And today's good spirits, despite awaking too tired to go out for hockey, suggest it is.
I still miss her, but I feel good.
I am ready to embrace the rest of my life.