Seventeen without seventeen.

I enjoy sitting and watching the smoke twirl from the cigarette. So magical, so soothing. Mysteriously, it twirls again, and again, and again, till it disippates into nothing at all. The days are getting colder. I'm not alone, but I feel alone. For once, on my birthday, I'll know what to wish for, but I know it'll never, ever come true.

Please, let it go.