It’s like being a smoker for years
and my lungs have been covered in tar
and I’ve had a persistent cough, an irritant.
It seemed a mild nuisance at first,
but then grew more severe, more violent
whenever I’d laugh, or enjoy a moment,
when I’d dare to breath deeply,
to take in all that an aroma had to offer.
It would choke me,
suppress me,
kill the moment,
cloud the joy,
overwhelm the senses,
so there was nothing there but the cough.
And then I quit smoking.
I’d had enough.
The pleasure was far exceeded by the pain.
I couldn’t force myself to endure it one more day.
Cold turkey.
Done.
Never again would I subject myself to that… Drug.
But the cough persisted.
The shortness of breath.
The choking.
The black stickiness that seemed to want to supress every motion, every breath.
But I knew I had made the right decision,
and that time alone would repair the damage.
Slowly, ever so slowly,
the smoke is clearing,
my eyes see things with greater clarity,
my ears hear things they’ve longed to hear, but were denied,
my skin tingles with new life,
my tongue tastes new sweetness, and sourness, and bitterness,
my nose even smells things that have been long hidden.
It is as though the tar covered every inch of me, both inside and out, deadening every sense.
As it clears, I come alive anew.
And I look at the world in wonder, as a child.
Have I been here before?
Was there a time when the tar did not cover me?
Was there a time when I thrived, unhindered and uninhibited?
I’m certain there must have been.
A lifetime ago.
A distant memory.
Faded.
Yellowed.
Permanently ruined.
Yet, rather than ache over the past
I try, desperately, to let go,
to be patient,
to let the pink overtake the black.
To breath freely.
Deeply.
Without the constant fear of coughing.
Of aching.
Of being forced to stop because of the tar.
Though I did not feel the slow, insistent, pervasive tar
as it covered me slowly, patiently, completely;
I now feel it receed.
I now feel it as it claws desperately to retain ground.
It’s practically screaming out
“Don’t let me go. You need me.”
Yeah, I need you like a cancer.
Oh, wait.
It will take time to clear out completely.
I know that.
And there will be some effects of it that will likely never go away.
But I don’t care.
Because I stopped it.
I stopped it from killing me.
I stopped it from smothering me so completely that there was nothing left of me, only the tar.
I stopped it.
I stopped it.
It can still try to choke me.
It can still desperately cling to whatever vestiges remain.
But I am victorious.
I am victorious.
Slowly, but absolutely…
I am getting new life.
I can breath.
And it feels
amazing.
