Cigar Smoke Whisper

Clouds of my own smoke surround me. The end of my cigar is nice and moist, just how I like it. I enjoy having it linger in my mouth as I keep it clenched down with my teeth. The taste and heat of the tobacco smoke along with the leaves themselves give me a feeling of comfort and contentment. There is no greater joy than being well-fed, having some whiskey and beer, and toping it off with a cigar or two. Music and sex could only make this moment better. Unfortunately I am without the latter. Although the music keeps on playing, so I can’t complain. Right now it’s the Doors’ “Alabama Song.” It’s a song on my newly created playlist I gladly titled “Whiskey Fuck it All.” I do enjoy my whiskey and finding music that obliges with my slow stupor only gladdens my drunken-soul.

I feel as though I’m a whisper, like the cloud of cigar smoke I release from my mouth. It has no grasp and is only briefly noticed as it disseminates into the cool air. It lingers for a bit, moves and swirls through the air until it slowly creeps off to places I’ll never know. But as this whisper, I know the words I create may be profound but the voice will always be too weak and subtle to be carried far. As the smoke is a vanishing blur the words will be faint and nearly inaudible. My days drift away too quickly, slipping away through my clenched fists; the harder I squeeze the quicker they seem to disappear. I can’t gain a solid footing anywhere. But I’ve never been able to. We all tend to create groundings for ourselves. We use ideologies, God, people or anything else we can make of permanent substance in our minds. But all of these are either non-existent or erode away from us through the natural passage of time. We can only cling to impressions. The imprints and marks that life presses upon you; the fleeting smoke of a cigar.

However, despite all of this, we are all passengers in this messy uncertain lot together. And even though you’re thrown into this alone and depart alone there are people between your entrance and exeunt that can leave you truly marked, making this thing not seem so damn bad. Most will be faint passing blurs, just like that whispering-smoke I perceive myself to be. Not even capable of eroding away the dust particles of your being, an unnoticed and meaningless impact that can only gently pass over you. But there are some, who at least for a brief moment, will obliterate all your loneliness and vacancy you feel to the depths of you. It’s never a frequent occurrence but there are some that manage to seep into those narrow deep empty nooks you may find yourself unaware of. Often it is only the smoke that can find its way through. Booming excitement and loudness is too wide and dense to finagle in, it’ll never breech the surface. Such exuberance is frequently forgotten over time. These encounters only touches the cloaked veneer you display to the world outside, unable to ever impact your true being.

But the trickling whisper that seeps in as smoke can cling with you for a lifetime. It is this soft voice that truly reaches you, passing through whatever rough exterior you maintain, caressing you to the dark crevices of your soul. Those who carry such a voice that permeates your interior don’t have a simple image of you. You’re not some dense bland single object only to be stared at. They see your quirks, the peccadilloes that distinguish you and make you beautiful. You become distinguished from the rest and for a moment don’t need to feel alone. That faint whisper has reached you, to the core of you, smashing the cold walls of isolation you constructed for your own self-preservation. Only it never lasts. It’s momentary. A fleeting puff of cigar smoke, that at best, can only remain as a vague whir of memory.

If you’re fortunate, you’ll carry these memories for your brief time here, before you too disseminate into the cool air.