The taste of a cigarette.

star cup The taste of a cigarette is a small New England college. The crisp air as we stand outside the theatre doors on break from rehearsal. Smoking a few drags from his cigarette, it tastes like him.

It tastes like the morning cup of coffee in the smoking room where the curtain hung across the doorway catching the smoke from the rest of the house as we would all pile in and start to talk about everything, before Google. It tastes like a time that I visit in my mind when old decorated journals crack open, notes falling out onto the floor, before cell phones.

It tastes like I imagine Mel Gibson tastes if one were to taste him. It tastes like youth never believing that one day forty would be the answer to that question they ask. It tastes like the first boy I ever kissed, sharp and stinging my tongue.

It tastes like an occasional guilty pleasure that buzzes my head as I stand on the deck, phone to ear, listening to her words promising me that I can do this.

It tastes like saying good-bye and road trips in half broken cars and peanut butter and jelly camping trips with them.

It tastes like this new life and remembering the one that brought me here. It tastes like a small New England college where I was began.


Join me in Spirits of Joy as writing prompts, such as this one around taste and memory, are added to our vision book creations.

We start on the January Full Moon, the 4th, for 30 days.

Under the stars.