Why do I smoke? I’ve seen all of the warnings. I’ve seen all of the pictures of what it does to a person’s lungs. I’ve promised my parents that I would never touch the stuff. Yet here I am, a cigarette hanging between my fingertips. And I enjoy it. My lungs are paying the price but that doesn’t seem to stop me. Maybe it’s more proof that humans desire what can easily destroy them. It’s as if we secretly enjoy pain. We’re all masochists and life is our sweet torture.