Gray Spring

     The scent of spring tickles you, and you are brought outside by an undeniable force that pushes your back to go out and smell the beginning of spring. Spring always does this to you. It gives you mysterious hope that you might be able to actually 'meet' someone and escape from this never-ending, gray loneliness, but you know that this dusty, humid room will never let you go. Spring is here, but no one seems to know. You lean back, drinking the humid air in. You smell smoke, thick and heavy last night's laughter and sweat. You don't even have to turn your head to know that it's K, K from downstairs.
     "Is this the place?" K asked the moment she stepped in, that familiar cigarette sitting on her cherry red lips. You always tell K to stop smoking in a calm tone, but not this time. You don't want to smell the smoke in between the humid spring air and the slight flowery smell. The combination of the gas turns the beautiful "spring smell" into the odor. "Stop smoking or I will smack twenty cigarettes into your mouth at once!"
     As time passed, you forgot the lovely and warm scent of spring that tickled your nose, hair, and your soul. The gas coming out of K's mouth washes you from the memory of sweetness of spring. It swipes your pure minds of a happy child with lollipops and evokes your inner darkness of oppressed anger with diminishing dreams. You used to blossom your hope and smiles when you pictured yourself in the middle of newborn sprouts swindling with a certain odor of spring. Now, your tears are dropping. Imagining the past days, you stop what you were doing, and felt the moment. Every year, spring comes to you, and just because of that cigarette smell, everything demolishes.