3 AM Smoke

 What do you do when all you have are words, but now even they fail you?

What do you do when the only thing you have leaves you with nothing but emptiness?

These are the exact thoughts running through the head of this idiot, smoking from the window at a time when most of the world around him is asleep. He won’t say the entire world is asleep — he knows there are other insomniacs like him. But still, most of them aren’t.

Everything is going well for him, at least on the surface. He has a job that pays fairly well, a decent circle of friends, and a family that somehow functions and cares for him. He knows the feeling of love — the feeling of care. The issue with this 3 AM smoker is that he’s incapable of feeling most of it. Sure, he can feel care. Sure, he can feel love. And sure, he can feel… wait, maybe I’m overestimating him a bit too much. Maybe he can’t really feel joy.

Now, let’s set the scene for you. The sky is dark — it’s buttfuck 3 freakin’ AM after all. He’s looking out the window of his back room at an empty scene. If it were day, you could see a small garden surrounded by the walls of other houses. But now, you can’t see anything besides an idiot with a smoke in his hand, peeping out from the only lit window. Poetic? Well, yeah, I guess it would seem poetic from a romantic viewer’s point of view.

Imagine a guy enjoying the stillness of the air, the calmness of the silence. But wait — can this moron even enjoy? How are you so sure he’s not just smoking because he got the itch in his throat in the middle of buttfuck no time because… insert drumroll… addictionnn.

That’s just one part of the scene. Another thing to question — why the fuck is this guy even awake at this point of time?

And the answer is — insomnia. It’s fucking insomnia. You don’t need to guess anymore. This idiot has insomnia, and to make it worse, he’s addicted to coffee. Apparently, coffee helps with his mood, but it’s bad for his freakin’ insomnia. Wait, did I say he has insomnia? Oh, and that’s not the only thing — he also has depression. Ah! How romantic, right? Nope. Just fucking nope.

He hasn’t brushed for a week, hasn’t taken a freakin’ shower for three, hasn’t made his bed in forever. If it wasn’t for his lovely mum, the bed sheets would stink of smoke. It’s not like he never does them though. He cleans himself and his room regularly when he can. It’s just that when he’s in a certain phase, he somehow can’t find the energy to do jackshit. The good news? He still does what he absolutely needs to — like going to work. And well, that’s pretty much it. Hey, at least he’s functional, right?

So, would you still think this is romantic? No? Why?

Don’t get me wrong — it’s absolutely disgusting when he doesn’t brush or shower. He knows it damn well too. It disgusts him even more when he realizes he should take care of himself but just doesn’t have the will. It’s not like he’s sad or anything. He just doesn’t care — at all.

Oh, look at that. While I was ranting about his shit and justifying it, he’s stubbed out the cigarette and gone back inside. For a second, the ember glows bright, then dies — leaving behind a tiny curl of smoke that vanishes into the dark. That’s the only quiet moment he gets tonight.

Let’s see what he’s up to now — and would you look at that, this asshat’s doomscrolling with a fucking deadpan face. I swear I’ll kill him someday. But I probably won’t. That’d just be fulfilling his wish. Fuck, how I wish I could… forget it. Forget it. The sun’s about to rise, and I need to go back into hiding again. Wouldn’t want to mess up his work. He needs to go to work after all.

And before I go — guess what he does for a living? I gave you a hint earlier, gurrrl. I’ll count to three and tell you the answer.

1
2
3

He’s a writer who’s lost his words. The dude used to write for expression, but since writing became his job, he’s lost his voice of emotion. So there he is — a deadbeat writer. Pfft, writer. He might as well be a keyboard since all he does is just type without a freakin’ goal.

Aight. Like I said, the sun’s almost up and I need to go back. He needs me gone before the light hits so he can work without distractions.

M out. See ya next time — hopefully still in this form. You wouldn’t want me otherwise.