My Love Hate Relationship With Smoking

I know it's gross, I know it's bad for me, and sometimes when I take that first drag I cringe. I don't even smoke that much anymore, so why should I keep doing it?
The truth is I'm one of the few left who thinks smoking is attractive in a grungy rugged sort of way. And I have a fascination for the way smoke moves in the air. But more than anything, smoking is a vice and a way to connect with home now that I live somewhere else.
I like to sit outside by myself when my dad isn't home (he hates that I smoke) and watch hummingbirds come and go, and think about the last couple months. It makes me miss the part of Michael's family I spent so much time with while he was at bootcamp. We smoked and talked and smoked some more in the garage, and at one point I think I was smoking almost a pack a day. Just for a little while.
It doesn't really have a hold on me. It doesn't matter that much if I smoke or not. I've been able to quit for up to a year at a time and never experienced withdrawals. I think about smoking a lot, and when I see a picture it makes me want one but it's usually at a time when I can't because I'm "forbidden" to smoke around the house (I do it anyway when he's not here).
It reminds me of Prescott. It reminds me of parties and smoke breaks, and escaping with one to a few people outside in the dark and having an interesting conversation. In the scorching heat here I try to think of brisk winter nights and frozen fingers. Is that smoke or breath? I need the connection.
I don't feel awesome when I smoke. If I haven't eaten enough I feel sick. But I don't really care. The next day I want another one anyway. It just reminds me of home.