When the smoke that gently pours out of your mouth like lava slowly floats away, did you ever think that it doesn’t want to? That maybe little sentient particles in the carbon dioxide and soot want nothing more than to be a part of the cardboard box that you throw away, instead of the wisps of gray the fill the air and vanish.
Because at least they’re part of something. Something that is held dear, even just for a little while.
And not anymore just a whisper of farewell.
Every. Single. Time.
(Source: stateofjoe)
