You start off with trembling hands, holding it in between your fingers like a child holding their first paintbrush. Your lips curve into an O, which could’ve been a part of your “No”, but instead form a doormat to welcome the smoke that’s grey, your favourite. The fumes carrying the weight of your empty birthday parties form abstract faces which seem to be screaming “stop”. But your ears are too distracted because of the nicotine inside your head congratulating your brain, that you’re finally cool.
– Mitsu Sahay
( Mitsu )
Photograph by Abhinavanand Singh.



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