I opened my eyes. He wasn’t there. I pulled myself out of bed with a hundred questions in my mind and with one answer. I desperately looked in my purse for that old cigarette package from a week ago.

— The last time— I murmured to myself.

I went to the window to savor the last sip of guilt. And then I saw him. He had been there the whole time. Observing me. Watching me fight my vice, and staring blankly into a square-shaped void that had silhouettes of houses and buildings.

I standed next to him. I lit the cigarette and began to swallow the first mouthful of smoke. He wasn’t looking at me.

There were no need to say words. We had done it again. We had crossed the line again and we don’t know where we were.

I caught his eyes between the shame and satisfaction. I knew he wanted to stop. I wanted it too. Or I least I thought I did.

Cigarette had always helped me to forget my problems... At least for a while what it lasted. But with him around was impossible. I could feel his thoughts sticking into my brain.

This was going to be the last time.

And just as I knew I had lied to myself about my last cigarette I knew he lied to himself about our last time together.

I nodded with my head. Trying to reassure us that I was wrong. But as long as we got closer to saying good bye, the walls fell down and we were saying hello again.