Free until the cord ran out

Keys, phone, cigarettes. Pat the pocket, check the bag, and only then could you leave. Before a flight or a long dinner, there was the math. How long until I can slip out? It never felt like being owned. It felt like the one thing that was yours. Something else was running your days.

The cigarette called it a break and clipped on a leash. A long one. Like a dog on one of those retractable cords. It trots down the sidewalk, nose up, sure it's free. Then it hits the end of the line and gets reeled back. That's what every craving was.

Real freedom is quieter than you were promised. An evening with no errand. A movie you watch to the end. A conversation nobody has to cut short. God never gave your days to a cigarette. He's putting them back in your hands, one by one. Nobody's holding the other end anymore.

Go past the end of the old cord today. Pick one thing that used to be rationed and let it run long. The whole game. The long walk. The dinner that goes past ten. Notice that nothing reels you in. No cord. No clock. Stay for all of it.