My Lucky Cigarette (Maybe)

I once met a girl at a bar.

There was only one cigarette left in my pack. She asked if she could have it. Before that, we had spent hours talking, holding each other's gaze as if time had forgotten us. She took my last cigarette, kissed it, and left the mark of her lipstick on the filter.

Today, we no longer speak. I still have that cigarette. Sometimes I want to smoke it, just to feel the memory of her lips one last time. But I never find the courage. Somewhere deep inside me, I keep believing it isn't time to light it yet. Because the day it finally burns... perhaps she'll return with the smoke.