Every drag of smoke I pull into my mouth, it reminds me of the minty taste of her mouth. The menthol kisses and cool tongue. When I snapped the menthol bead in the filter I'd hear the sound she made when she snapped it, using her teeth as she always did. I'd never buy my own, taking 1 or 2 from her pack. I'd often only take a few drags and then put it out, only to relight and finish later. This annoyed her, a roll of the eyes coupled with a half smile half cringe. With every Camel Menthol Light I smoke I get a little closer to her and a little further. Remembering has a way of slowly killing and distorting memories, sometimes muddying them up so they're no longer clear, fact melting into fiction. But enough of that, someone else is now breathing her smoke.
