Like a Marlboro to a Red.
These times fit well with the occasion, like a Marlboro to the red. It's all so customary now, like it was back then. The sensation was what I missed. It was all that I favored—a flavor I had in mind. If enabled, it could evade me. There's no steering clear of its lifeless expression and the basis for which it was demanding.
The worst part of one's reality. How a fallacy presents in their divulging. And at every juncture and every age, how much does one truly change? There may be no easy way to know what is essential but not entirely necessary. I wouldn't put it simply, for even I knew it sinfully.
Maybe I'll just live like a Marlboro to a Red.