smoke

The cigarette is lifted by a practiced hand to his full waiting lips. The lips purse to accept the gift and wrap around the cigarette creating a seal, allowing his lungs to pull in the nicotine and smoke. In milliseconds the lungs are full and the cigarette is back down, but the tendrils of smoke drift on the wind over towards my table. The smoke brings memories of Portugal mornings, bright and crisp and full of promise, watching a friend's lips search just as hungrily for the same fix.

The Plaza is my current location, while not my favorite place, it was designed with influences from Sevilla Spain. The buildings have the Spanish yellow color that burns in the rising and setting sun. They have flowers in the window boxes and the typical red tile roofs. The combination of the visual scene in front of me and the smell of smoke takes me back to Portugal. I'm back to laid back people who place huge priorities on relationships. It's peaceful and calming and just what I need, until my dream is interrupted by the exorbitant gaudy cars and expensive outfits that walk in front of me. They do not belong in my picture, or my life.

Can I paint my life picture without them? Can I pick and choose what I want?

I want the people who are like the flower-boxes that make me happy, I want the person who is like the sun and will make me burn like the spanish color palette. I want the peacefulness that the thoughts of Portugal bring. I don't want the drama of the gaudy cars or the competition of who has the best outfit, most toned muscles, best relationship. I want to paint this picture my way, without boundaries, wild, flowing, free, like the smoke from the cigarette drifting on the wind. Slipping through your fingers, unable to be caught or tied down, or made to conform to any boundaries. You can let me sate your addiction for awhile, but I'll be gone before you know it. Leaving you with an even stronger addiction for a smoke that once was...