I smoked to see the tendrils drift through my vision. To feel something take hold of my life, take hold of something real.
I choked back hatred for the stick in my hand and took another drag. How could I claim joy in this disaster? I hear the morning birds calling out, telling me that I have been awake for too long already, time to get some sleep. I sit for a moment longer, watching the breeze blow cool through the blossomed trees, take my last drag, snuff out the burning embers and stand up.
Taking a step is the hardest thing to do next because I have lost my compass rose. I know not now which way is up, so I pick up my bags and press on, leaving behind all that I cannot accept.