‘No, don’t do that. It’s bad for you and you need to stop’,I think to myself. A whole thought. A piece of me making a decision; becoming responsible. My mind tries to reboot, become whole, as it should. It begs me to stop, but my hand is a phantom. Instinct drives it. It brings the pen to my lips and I draw it in. Three seconds.
The vapor fills my lungs, something I think used to hurt, now feels right. My fear, my strength, the train of thought that was beginning to want something… dissolves.
I forget. I forget why I wanted to stop. I forget why I was afraid. I forget why feeling motivated matters. After all, this is easy. This is fine. As long as I always feel the way I do right now, in this moment, none of that other stuff matters. So the next time I want something more? Something real? I know exactly what I need to do.
But can I?