Guest Post. Postcards to Cigarettes.

Up next with a Guest Post is Meaghan Culkeen. I have known Meaghan for what seems like forever (when it has only been 7ish years?), while I have always regarded her as a genuinely gracious and beautiful human being — she has not failed to be entertaining nearly every time we talk/hang out or engage in internet chit-chat. Postcards to Cigarettes will eventually be studied in middle school literary circles . . . spoken of in the same tone as the masters.


Postcards to Cigarettes.

When I was quitting smoking I dealt with the cravings in a number of ways. I’ve chewed bumblegum like a fiend for instance. My friends would be calling on their friends Peter Jackson and Monsieur DuMaurier and I’d be ready with a pack of Double Bubble in my pocket. The pink kind. I’m that kind of guy.

I’d chew toothpicks. I thought it looked pretty badass in a cowboy sort of way. It gave me something to chew and something to hold, which was pretty helpful.

But then there was the emotional loss. See, cigarettes and I had a relationship. We were pals, even lovers. The relationship wasn’t a healthy one. But I loved them all the same. Dealing with the emotional loss was a harder thing to deal with. I couldn’t very well weep during every missed cigarette break. So I started writing postcards to cigarettes. Usually on the postcards you buy in the convenience store. The postcards were adorned with woodland creatures. They were steeped in longing.

Dear Cigarettes
I wish you were here.

Dear Cigarettes,
I left my house today and smelled your perfume coming from the bar downstairs. Though I know it’s for the best, I miss you.

Dear Cigarettes,
I still find little reminders of you all around my apartment. Lighters, ashes, a hidden ashtray here and there. All ghosts of a former love. Hope you are well.

Dear cigarettes
I saw you hanging on the lips of other men, you hussy.

And so I decided to write a Christmas card for cigarettes. Lately I’ve been indulging. Having a few here and there. Dealing with the stress of my interminable undergrad by going back to the warm embrace of an old flame. So here it goes:

Merry Christmas Cigarettes,

These last few weeks have been incredible. You’ve been a comfort and a joy in this time of trial and need. We’ve been there for each other. It’s been great, mostly.

And it is with heavy lungs that I say that come New Years Day, we must once again part. I am resolved. Don’t try to change my mind. Baby.

Love always,
— M


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