My eyes open with practiced reluctance every morning. My pillows are very effective at keeping me close to them and cradle my tired head so well, the glory of the rising Sun is brushed away shamelessly by a swift pull of my hand on the curtain.
Half awake, I ask myself if I really want to wake up right now, what do I have to do today which would need me to leave the embrace of my blankets? I have no answers, so I force myself up after half an hour of idle fantasizing of waking up in the arms of a beautiful woman every morning and feeling her naked warmth, pressing her body against mine in the winter cold.
But no, I have pillows.
I throw off my blankets and my feet stagger me to the bathroom, I drink a glass of cold water and wish my already awake mother an awkward good morning.
I decide to go to the temple, have a short bath and leave. I smoke the first cigarette of the day as soon as I step out. The winter morning Sun comes down a soft golden yellow on a drowsy city. I light my cigarette and love watching the gray white smoke curling away in the shafts of early light. My eyes turn too look at the Sun directly after every few moments because they like the distilled warmth under the eyelids, every time they blink.
I never step out without my music, these days it’s all that saves me. James Horner colors my thoughts into happiness and the day begins with a feeling I feel every morning yet wake up very reluctantly to feel it.
I return home to nothingness; no breakfast or tea. The newspaper spreads itself impatiently in front of me and I hurriedly read the forecast. The internet occupies my mind for about an hour after that and I am thirsty for some smoke again.
I step out and A Kaleidoscope of Mathematics by James Horner on my player gives birth to a thousand thoughts, hopes and dreams. The cigarette is a necessary feature which strongly contributes to the quality of my thoughts. One usually sees smokers with eyebrows twisted in deep bothersome thought, but I smile.
The smoke flushes itself into my lungs and then overflows to climb up to my brain before my lips release it.
My world is a hazy maze with a soundtrack and I don’t care about finding my way out of the maze because, frankly I don’t care.
My days are empty, my nights are lonely and the beginning to every morning is with a fantasy; a fantasy fueled by my cigarettes and my music. Hours pass with music being fed into my ears and with smoke feeding my lungs.
These days I cough.
Every day I take 3 or four short walks with my small friend who fits in between my fingers and my music; between those walks the internet & other nothingness crowd around me; nothing else, no people to meet, no friends eager to see me nor a beautiful woman expecting my call.
I haven’t thought of quitting, I don’t even think I would like to try.
Sometimes I feel I have been searching for love all my life; maybe I am and always will be, but till the time I find it, she’s all I have. “Don’t take her away from me too”.
Night falls, and then I sleep; in anticipation of my first smoke tomorrow morning.
2nd January, 2011