Living with a Closet Smoker
Wednesday, December 10, 2003
  welcome to my account of living with a closet smoker. it was until recently I found out that she had been smoking the past 6 months when she was supposed to be quitting. I always told myself, I'd never live with or love a smoker. what do you know..? it happened to me. I live in a one bedroom apartment with my closetsmoker; it's close quarters; we share everything, well almost anything. I guess I noticed over the past 3 weeks that she smelled like smoke again; you know the same old tell tale signs; her breath smells like smoke covered up by gum or wine; doesn't work. her hands, neck and hair; dont forget about the hair, it never lies, smells like smoke. and her nervous twitch as i approach her with weary eyes and smoke positive nose; i smell that which consumes her mind on a daily basis, that which underlies our entire relationship; it could make or break it you could say. but love's hazy screen...yeah love. i love you but i am still smoking, can't you smell it on my breath you ass? can't you smell it ni my hair, it is all over like a blanket that safely holds my lies? please catch me, I'll never do it again or I can't promise anything. promises...promises...those placeholders for leading others on...promises...
last night was monday I found a pack of cigarettes in your baby blue fleece liner from your ski jacket...it slapped me in the face and laughed at my obvious, blatant stupidity. it was my first piece for my new collection. I collect my closetsmokers choice of method; the matches, the single packs of Marlboro lights with the pamphlet in the back reading, "Note to Smokers" and it's filled with corporate jargon telling her, this will kill you, stop it. she takes another hit. I place my treasure in MY drawer now in some austin powers vhs cassette box with my 2 packs of matches, confiscated from lighting candles. I confront her, she is silent, her eyes say, you're right this time, i have been lying, but i wont admit it. the feeling carries over into bed that night. I cant even talk to you.
tonight is wednesday, you're out with the girls form work. I know there are cigarettes in my apartment. You can smell them in our room. I find a pack of matches in your drawer which use to be mine; it never concealed anything, only my clothes. I find a pack of empty Marlboro lights and a bottle of Bass beer. random? I feel guilty for searching your drawers but you have turned me into this nicotine sleuth. it consumes me now, i have the same symptoms as you, the stress bothers me; except it wont kill me in the end. you need to stop, I cant be at your hospital bed at age 39, watching you die of posion; but I will find anything and everything and keep it as my own. remember love? dont let it poison that too. good night until you return home tonight, i pray for fresh rain and clean skin, the smoke is always on my mind too. 
This account is true. I live with a closet smoker and this is how she gets caught, hides her habit and continues to kill herself with that rat poison. This is the truth.

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