In the evening. Behind the window, I looked outside, eying the trees along the road. The leaves fell, flying in the cold night wind, scattering the leaves in the air. If it snowed tonight, maybe the flickering white color reflected by the moonlight would be so beautiful when it was seen from the dim room, disguising how gloomy the darkness out there.
Staring at the boundless void through the window, I sat by the frame, hugged my knees, and occasionally smoked a cigarette at my fingertips.
In this silence, smoking a cigarette made me feel a little weird. The taste of the cigarette was no longer the same as before when it touched my lips, making this cigarette feel strange every time it was puffed. The billowing smoke was suffocating my lungs, made me choke now and then, then coughed while patting my chest. Perhaps, it was because I was no longer used to it but stupidly kept pushing myself to do it.
