Tonight I looked at the dormant fireplace. I have lit it a couple of times this year, but not nearly as much as we did when you lived here. I thought about the times we sat when it was so cold – last winter seems so cold now compared to this one – by the fireplace and smoked cigarettes… which led me to thinking about sitting by the fireplace, with the smell of the burnt wood, and smoking, at your mother’s house. Then I thought that you don’t smoke anymore and it made me happy and sad. It made me happy and sad in the same way that the thoughts of hearth-side smoking did. There are so many memories surrounding so many things, but there seems like a special amount of them surrounding cigarettes: the first night on Gates’ porch when I saw the shooting stars that you didn’t, sitting on the porch at various parties, the pool house, the car port at Ashley’s, my parents back porch, in my car and yours, on trips and around town, Jeremy’s porch shivering, and even sitting in your window after you moved out. I guess that’s one of the reasons why it is hard to give the habit up. It is also why it is hard to give you up, too many memories. But there has been a slight shift. These memories used to only make me sad. They still do, but strangely they make me smile at the same time. I am sitting here right now looking at the fireplace, crying and smiling.