How I Learned to Breathe Without the Smoke

Today is Lover’s Day, and I’m here to apologize. See, I have this little problem. A compulsion. A bad habit, the kind that gets me in trouble. Some people smoke. Some people bite their nails. Me? I do both but even more — I collect secrets like a magpie hoarding shiny objects—and sometimes, without thinking, I let them slip. It's like peeling a  clementine with too much eagerness, stripping away all the juiciness until there’s nothing left but a rind. It has just becomes empty and harmful.
 

There’s something intoxicating about knowing everything, like holding a map of the social world in my hands. It makes me feel like I have control, like I can move through life more gracefully, avoid pitfalls, navigate friendships and conversations better. I’ve been like this since high school—seven years of carefully gathered intel, whispered exchanges, and yes, mistakes. And mistakes, I’ve made plenty.
 

I won’t sugarcoat it: I’ve hurt people. I’ve lost the confidence of close friends. I’ve seen the way someone’s expression changes when they realize I know something I shouldn’t. And I get it. The thing about living in bubbles—whether it's a tight-knit friend group, an art scene, or just the microcosm of a city—is that you will hear things. The Morning-After recaps, the gallery-opening whispers, the drunken confessions over free wine at a vernissage. The tea is always brewing. And for the longest time, I just couldn’t help but take a sip.
 

But here’s the thing—gossiping is not —just— bitching. It’s storytelling, it’s connection, it’s the way we process the world and make sense of our relationships. The issue is knowing when to stop. When the curiosity turns into something messier.
 

Last summer, I finally decided to do something about it. I worked on it, really worked on it, because I saw how it could harm people, how it could damage trust and relationships. For months, I kept my mouth shut. I let secrets rest where they belonged. And then… well, you know how it goes.
 

A pressure cooker can only hold so much before it explodes. And after months of self-control, I cracked. A late-night conversation. One too many drinks. One or two slip-ups. A moment of weakness, and then, I was back at square one.
 

So, this is my V Day love letter and my apology— to the ones who trusted me, to the ones who maybe shouldn’t have, to the ones who have had to deal with my loose mind and mouth. I’m trying, I really am.
 

But let’s be honest: quitting gossip is like quitting cigarettes. You can promise yourself this is your last one, that you’re done for good—but then there’s a stressful night, a tempting moment, a friend who nudges the magnificent pack toward you, and suddenly, you’re back at it.
 

Maybe, in the end, that’s the price we pay for loving a good story a little too much.
 

So here’s to breaking bad habits. Or, at the very least, learning to smoke in moderation.

xx


Louis

a filtered cigarette