Where smoke twirls...

He sits there beneath the cold mist that surrounds him in the balcony, vaporizing his sins with that sweet burning smell of cigarette. He fears the resting footsteps, those of dull reality. But then again, He awaits it while the smoke twirls round her fingers. He is amused that those fingers had previously grasped the women he knew too well. He didn't need her anymore. She was like the cigarette butts that He had previously disposed off with. Just like that. But unlike the many, she had been the first. The very first cigarette and the very first smoke. And now he sat staring outside his balcony. Without resolve. With the sweet burning smell of smoke caressing him with the false sense of nothingness.