Consecutively, it's been the third of all my smoking days. Its not that I have not been smoked before or these are initial moments with cigarette. I do have lots of chances to hold the tobacco stick many times. Commensurately, I did made attempts to broadly disregard my own didactics to hold it more than I had wish. But I have never stashed it in such a repetitive way, the way I am doing these days. I do admit it unmistakably that the things are not equivocal anymore. I am totally assured with beyond the fact matter, that purely smoking is not that particular substance which gives me the kind of aesthetic pleasure to which I am looking for. But still I have infinite hazardous intentions to collect minuscule of all. Probably this is the kind of stupidity I use to do diligently and punctually. I call it my way. That I am experimenting my way of living. I don't feel anything wrong into it. Even I don't a fuck to those, for whom this matters a lot. To this moment, I feel, I am completely in senses. I don't know what is the reason. But at last I am enjoying each and every piece.