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He flicks the lighter near his lips, a flame sparking to life. His hand shakes, just about dropping the bent cigarette. He catches it without a moment’s hesitation. He twirls the cigarette in his hand and ignites it. He settles the cigarette in his mouth, steadying it with his lips. He takes a deep breath in before coughing a few times. He removes the cigarette from his mouth with two fingers, and lets out a deep sigh. A dark cloud of smoke rises from his mouth as he looks up. He closes his eyes and simply breathes, like he’s hoping for something. I’m not sure what he is hoping for, even whether it is good or bad. Maybe he is praying for better days, or maybe his mind is also filled with the clouds of smoke that are eating away at his lungs. I won’t ever know what he is thinking at this moment, but I don’t necessarily want to. This is his moment, after all. Not mine.

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