What I miss about smoking in 2016

I miss the sensation of the cigarette holder in my mouth. I miss the feel of the filter as I squeeze it into shape for insertion. I miss trying to get the cellophane off of the packs in one big piece like I’m skinning a mikan. I miss the feeling of the smoke hitting my throat. I miss feeling it leave on each breath.
Oh that delicious calorie free sensory stimulation. Hand business for a body that sits too often yet yearns for movement. A rebellion against boredom. A protest against having nothing to do. Making a vice a virtue of necessity.
I miss chasing that feeling that I always thought that smoking would give.
Even the first time, it wasn’t as good as I had hoped. And it was never that good again.
This seems to be the nature of all existence.
Yet, in this one area, I can remind myself, effectively so far, that the pleasure is not nearly so great as I imagine. I can remember that I’ve romanticized an action that has never really pleased me.
A lesson I ought to retain.