On the balcony of your tiny apartment room, you smoked. Blowing the toxic fumes into the air and watching them twirl in the sky, you felt so much relief from just the cigarette. Everything lately felt like shit. Nothing would ever seem to go your way. The only place you felt you belonged was in your trashy apartment, overlooking the rest of the small town, the lights in the distance like your very own person version of the stars. You had grown to love watching people. You felt you could never be amongst them. You grew to view them as a realm you could not engage with. The cold air of the summer night blew over your skin, cheeks flushed, smoke swirling overhead. The cigarette your nursed burned idly, your boyfriend seated on the chair beside you as you leaned against the railing. He hated when you smoked. But he loved you. He couldn't let you stand out in the cold alone. You sniffled as you took another drag, sighing as you slouched--when would you ever earn anything good? perhaps you didn't deserve it.