Every now and then, the urge comes upon me to start smoking. I don’t though, I don’t want to ruin my lungs.
But the act of smoking is what appeals to me, putting the killing thing between your lips (yes that was stolen from TFIOS by John Green), but it’s true for me too.
People who smoke, well some at least, to me, look contemplative. They make me want to know about them, know what they’re thinking about, what they’re keeping from the world to feel the need to hide behind a cigarette. Why did they decide to make the decision to have a hobby which ultimately ruins themselves. Is it similar to adrenaline junkies, jumping out of planes, off cliffs, no safety nets?
To know that you’re the one holding the power, and you’re choosing to hold it, light it, and inhale.
Maybe, for me, possibly, the act of inhaling danger, and exhaling something else is what appeals.