I open my mouth and I watch as the smoke dances it’s way into the cold. It slithers and swirls as it serenades my senses. The nicotine numbs my mind as my body relaxes, joyfully digesting the dose. I close my eyes and lean my head against the wall, letting out a deep exhale as it pushes the rest of the poison out of my system. I am calm. My breathing is lethargic, and my legs shiver, struggling to keep my body warm and active.

This is my favorite time of the day…

It is the reason I keep myself up. So that I can reach it. So that I can savor this moment. It is after one in the morning and the city is sleeping. I look beyond my balcony as I continue to drag my cigarette. It is only at this time of day that I am able to steal a selfish second. Only now am I able to escape everything and everyone. There are no problems now. Finally, I can dive into solitude… the peacefulness that envelopes me… I enjoy it.

It is now that I can reflect on my life. Every day – habitually – shortly after one in the morning I can melt into my chair… goosebumps rubbing against the cotton of my sweater. It is eerily quiet every day at this hour. There is no traffic. There is no city ambience. There is only the occasional laughter from last call and the rush of wind from a passing car. So many thoughts run through my head now. I think about who I am. About what I want to do with my life. About the problems that I encounter… you would be both surprised and impressed about how deep the mind can wander when there are no distractions. When there is no influence…

Tonight I thought about three women. Three women who have truly loved me. Who supported me. Who have seen me grow into the man I am today. Who were patient with me through the hardest, most difficult times of my life. They were the ones who waited for me. For me to realize what I had in front of me. And I think about how I let each of them walk away, and I did little more then suffer for a few days before I convinced myself to spiral into an asshole. Am I that sort of person? Am I really one of “those guys”?

Out of the three, one is now happier than ever. Happier without me in their life. While I lie and say I am happy for her, it is evident that I am pained inside. Is that selfish? Of course it is. And while I’m at it, I’d like to add arrogant to the list. I am not proud of it at all. I realize now that while I thought I was the best thing that happened to her – I never stopped to ask myself whether she was the best thing that could happen to me. I think about that question every day, and it is always the same answer. And every day I regret the way things ended. People have this notion, this fantasy, that they want to live a life with no regrets. I think it’s total bull shit. A person is not honest with their self until they learn to regret. Only then can they truly feel the weight of their decisions. If you can regret, you can (and will) learn. And it’s through the process of regret that you’re capable to grow as a person – so you will not make that mistake again. For those naive enough to believe that a life without regret is one filled with future promise, then I feel pity for the day they endure a decision they wish they could change. And I will not be the shoulder for you to cry on.

I hurt one of the three. In a shameful, selfish way. Every day I regret the way I did her. I was a coward. I convinced myself that what I did was right – but I know it wasn’t. Without a rhyme or reason, I forced her out of my life. A woman who loved me. And meant it when she looked me in the eyes and said it. And like a coward, I would say it back… an empty phrase to me, but I could see the joy fill her face… the warmth glowing in her smile in return. Even now, as I write this, I am so ashamed of myself. I was wrong, and as a believer in karma, I know my punishment will suit me. She is a strong woman, carrying on with her life – completely cutting me out of it. I don’t blame her. At the end of the day, I am still a jerk. No matter how hard I try, I am still afflicted with wrong judgement.

And finally, the third… she still waits for me. She is in her bed right now … with the false sense of security that one day I will come home and lay in it with her. She shares with me her problems… the most intimate details of her life. She asks me to be hers. She sends me cookies. She writes me letters. She welcomes me every time I come home… and no matter how much I push her away, she waits. She tries to change her self so that I can realize she’s the one. And every time I refuse, yet … I still lay in her bed from time to time, taking advantage of this imaginary image I’ve painted for her. I’ve explained to her that this isn’t what I want… but she refuses to hear it and move on, and it kills me because – like an asshole – I allow her to hold on to it, and I find myself dialing her number when I’m in town. I’m cringing at this very moment. I despise people like this, but irony would have it – I am that person…

As I take my last pull and flick away my cancer, I take a moment to regain myself. To bring it all back to reality. To slap on this smile, this disguise for a sorry excuse of a man. Three women, and I’ve let them all walk away. And I have the nerve to wonder if I will ever find the one. I fear that I will grow lonely and old. That I will never be able to share with anyone the real story of me that is dying to be told. And already, I have managed to accomplish my fears… I am the oldest 22 year old I’ve met. And I am as lonely as the guy who sleeps on the park bench at night…

…I take one last glimpse of the illuminated city streets. It is completely empty. Just like my apartment… And just like the bed that I inevitably retire myself to.