It’s a hand , real skin, real fingers , holding a cigarette, the tip glowing soft orange.
Smoke is rising slow and easy, curling up like it’s trying to escape the screen.
But everything around it is code. Lines of programming, functions, digital noise in deep reds and purples, all bleeding into the hand like the system is trying to swallow the moment.

Still, the smoke keeps going.
It doesn’t care about the glitches.
It’s just human.
A quiet breath, a small habit, a second of feeling something real while the whole world is pixels and data.

This piece is me in the middle of it all , taking a drag, letting the smoke mix with the code, reminding myself I’m still here, still feeling, even when the screen tries to take over. The heart doesn’t stop. It just finds new ways to breathe.