Singles

I don't like singles. Especially the way the clang against each other in your pocket as if their compiled weighty-ness doesn't already remind you of their existence. 

I don't disregard their value though; in the same way that I do not disregard single souls, lost in a sea of turmoil. 

Convince yourself of practicality. Be my guest. 

But I do want to suggest that, maybe fate/karma has already made a visit to your mind creeping through the back door. 

I call it being "spiritual but not religious" and states my practicality that way. But I'm ready to say that I'm comfortable, at least, with being by myself always, if fate so decides. 

Chances can be numbers, irrational and illogical. 

But I stand at this point and say that chances are quite decided.

And I'm ready to accept mine. 

Quit

I'm trying to quit smoking.

It scares me, the feeling it creates, this viscous and short-lived aura of delusion; as if I can afford to live recklessly.

I never thought of my self as ambitious. It's a latent ambition that does not compel, but rather glares.
My ambition glares at me as I tilt my head back and draws another breath of nothingness.
It glares at me when the sequence of my favorite past eerily dissolves into incongruent pixels and frames.

I can't think of why I fell into that fountain when I was 5 anymore.

I'm slowly losing my presentness.

I can't recall the mess from last Friday.

I can't remember what I said to my mother from before I departed.

I can't smoke anymore.