Smoke

It makes me sick. Slightly sick. Sometimes.

I wonder what is wrong and what is right. Conventionally, yes am being foolish and horribly stupid. But then what is right and what is wrong - the socially constructed rights and wrongs?

He said he isn't causing harm to or he isn't disturbing anyone.

“And you?” I asked.

He smiled. “It’s one’s free will how one wants to be.”

“The emotional pain you cause to others? Hurt?” I persisted.

“People should let people be. Go find your peace.”

Since then am on my way, trying to find it everywhere. Here and there, in theories and examples, in learning and fables, in myself and in him, in rejections and acceptances. I haven’t. I haven’t really found my peace. All I could manage to find is disrespect and insult.

I delivered his love two months ago. And the belly is almost level now. And his love delivered, consumes my energies day and nights. He does love me much. And we do plan to plant yet another seed. But it’s been four years and I have not been able to find an iota of that peace.

May be to accept him doing it, accepting it altogether is the ‘correct’ frame. I must accept it as okay. I have started hiding. Secretly and covertly, when he is out, sometimes in the loo, sometimes when he’s fallen asleep and sometimes when he isn't up yet. Sometimes I even share with him, jokingly, making fun of it. Sometimes. I feel sick. Slightly. Sometimes. I might be horribly stupid, but what is right and what is wrong?

I have taken to smoking so as to accept him smoking. My love, my peace. Smokes.