The hardest moment of quitting smoking isn’t 23 hours after the last cigarette, but the next day. When you find yourself in the exact same time and place where you had the last smoke. It feels like dragging your hand across a smooth surface only to disrupt the harmony of that surface with a small dent. The feeling it created is gone. It’s as if something is missing that should be there. If someone can get through this phase, it can be said they’ve quit smoking.

A few days ago, the rain fell in an unusual way. It reminded me that the days I’ve lived so far are like those first 23 hours. The 24th hour, the same time and place, will come eventually, and only then will I understand how I fared. The scary part of this is that in those moments, I might not be under my own control. Hard days are ahead.

While listening to Solamanet Tú.