Dereliction

          I can’t quite remember when I met her. She must have been around for ages, but I began noticing her home, at garden parties. I was a kid back then and to me there was nothing remarkable about her. She seemed popular with guests – I didn’t really like her fragrance.

          She was good friends with Mother; that’s how I got to hang around her for more. She had pale, thin skin and scrawny appearance. Understated, she would be a good companion through dances and lengthy conversations. She wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea: although Father tolerated her, he didn’t like her at all. He would come home in the evening and swear he could smell her trail. I will always remember how he would warn me to stay away from her for she was deceptive.

          But dad had little to worry. Growing up I found enough distractions and friends to completely ignore her. I would see her here and there, bump into her at parties or travel along, but she wasn’t of any interest to me. She had the same cool charm, the same fragrance and the same affinity to philosophical conversations, yet I was immune to her spell.

          Years flew fast and I soon found myself with a thirst of knowledge that would keep me awake at night, rummaging through books and psychedelic music. It was then when it happened. I remember that night in all details: it was a hot, summer night; Telegraph Road was on the radio when I noticed her. She just stood there, in the dark, motionless. I first extended my hand towards her, unconvinced but willing. I touched her and she didn’t seem to mind, so I heated things up. And then it happened. It was pure, unadorned, guilty pleasure, lived through every breath. I persevered with an urge that consumed her entirely. I was ecstatic, for I thought I found a friend and a lover.

          There are literally no places where we couldn’t find pleasure. I got used with her taste, with her bitter-sweet smell filling my nostrils in the morning, with the texture of her kiss. We were inseparable at parties. We would go to bed together and looked for each other at sunrise. Once past college we didn’t have to hide anymore, I could introduce her to everyone, including my mates at university. I even told my father. Friends and family than once were frowning, now invited us around. Oh, the joy and relish of acceptance. For years I took her with me everywhere. I went to university with her, I travelled far and wide, I got lost, I fell in love with her, and I got my first job with her. We were inseparable and felt that it would last forever.

          Time went by and I started to notice something awkward. Routine was setting in and things we used to do didn’t seem fun anymore. We were a functional couple but passion waned away. As I grew older and mature she seemed to become increasingly young and foolish. Like a ladder on hosiery our bond was tearing; we grew colder and almost lost intimacy. Once we couldn’t stay separated for more than minutes and now we would go days without seeing each other. We started meeting only when going out with friends.

          And then something unbelievable happened. She started to become less and less popular. People spoke about her in harsh whispers and her presence became a concern. Acceptance was shrinking. A few people she knew turned their backs on her and I heard she even got barred from some pubs. There was no explanation for this. Poor soul, I can’t tell what she must’ve gone through.

          Then, on a cold winter night, in a smoke filled pub, we split up.

          It’s hard to describe love. Words, for all their power and pervasive profusion, will miserably fail to catch the emotion of a single feeling. It’s all more pathetic to think that when we lose ground on a lover, when the magic dispels, words, pompous and impotent words, are all we can use to try and mend it. It will never work. Read the signs and walk away goes the old song, for all we have left is to bid goodbye with dignity.

          Farewell, my dear cigarette!