I stole my first cigarette out of the glove box of my father's car, back in the days when he was still a smoker. My cousin and I snuck around the back of my grandparent's house, lit it up, and proceeded to cough our lungs out. We were nine years old.

Since then, I've had a twisted relationship with cigarettes. They've kept me company in my darkest hours and given me bronchitis more times than I can count. I've quit and started and quit again.

But through it all, I've always known that there were countless other people out there going through the exact same thing. Perhaps it's time we all met.

– Derek