I confess. I still miss you!

It's been four years, but I still miss you.


You were there with me for so many years, but now you're gone. Some may call me crazy, but I do miss you.


You were there with me though all kinds of crazy times.


In my 20s, when I suffered from horrible panic attacks, you were there with me in the middle of the night when I thought I was going to die.


You were there when my heart was broken by silly boys.


My best friend, you and I all shared our ups and downs together. Staying up all night chatting and laughing until we cried. We were all never far away from each other.


You were also there for all the good times. The times we'd stay out all night, catching the first tram of the morning home, walking through the front door all crumpled and dishevilled. I'd sleep for the rest of the day, get up eventually, and we'd watch the sunset from the back porch. Sitting in silence together, amazed at the beauty of nature, and hungover as hell!


You were there when I used to visit my Nanna, Nan Fras. Nan also loved your company. We would sit there for hours of a weekend afternoon, eating a lunch of Mars Bars and instant coffee while she talked of her wonderful life. You were also there for me when she died. You sat with me on her grave as we talked to her. I'm sure she would have felt your presence as much as mine.


But my relationship with you had to end, and you had to go away.


I miss cigarettes. I miss smoking.


I think there are two types of ex-smokers. The anti-smoking kind who will rant against the evils of tobacco. And then there's those like me. Those who loved smoking, and as much as they know how bad it is for themselves and others, they'll understand when someone lights up, smile ... and then go stand next to them and inhale deeply.


Have you ever smoked? Do you miss it at all, or do you hate it?