I drink too much.
I smoke too much.
I know that.
You don’t have to tell me.
You know you don’t have to tell me.
But you do anyway.
You tell me what I already know.
And hope it will make a difference.
Let me tell you a little secret.
It won’t change me.
I will stop when I’m ready to stop.
And certainly not because you keep telling me how bad it is for me.
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Categories: flash fiction