Smoke Gets in the Eyes

Alone in the chilly winter night. The lights were bothering him and he shut them off. He turned his attention to the blank screen in front of him. The cursor blinked away, counting down the seconds. Man’s feeble attempt at measuring such an intrinsic property of the Universe. A sudden flare of bright yellow light as he struck a match and lit his third cigarette of the hour. Slow puffs. He watched the smokes curl up and dance, overjoyed at their new freedom. Breaking off from their physical form, to merge and become part of the greater whole. It was the fire that set them free. Did they feel pain? And was the pain worth it? Was rebirth without its torment? And did they have a choice? The flame shines in its brief glory. Smoke rises up, never down. The ash is what gets flicked away and emptied into the dustbin.