and can you keep it fresh? will your cheeks stay rosy? will your pupils reflect the sparkle for ever-after-more? there was a time you actually believed that you could, they would, ever-after-more. that's all changed. with every stroke of the match along the box's red carpet. you inhale to get a little high because it's all become mundane. you like to feel your head falling even when it's perfectly still. you like balancing the fat ash while you click away at the keys. but even high gets stale. and moving on to bigger and better cigarettes is too much of a bother. sure every now and then you catch a good whiff of newlove. memorizing the voice to play it over in your head as you lay in bed. excited for what was in store, the big promise and possibility from the boy nextdoor. sometimes, it's just damned easier never picking up the phone.