My dear, sweet Camel Lights:

I write these words through blinding tears.

My friends, my constant companions, we must part.

It's with much trepidation and even more guilt that I do this, but so it goes. You're the same, wonderful you you've always been. You're the same smooth, delicate blend of Turkish and Domestic that you were the day we met in high school. The day we fell in love.

But those days are gone. While you may still be those things, you're also still incredibly possessive. Your constant attention was probably more responsible than anything for my tragically short marathon career. I won't shield you from the truth any longer: I still resent you for it.

And besides, I know you're getting listless, too. Your price keeps going up, like you want me to prove how much I care for you. The camel on the front of your pack -- Lawrence -- won't even look at me anymore, and yesterday morning, as I walked to work carrying you, my magazine, my coffee and bagel, you became so insanely jealous that you made me drop my coffee. It scared me when you were like that. That's something I feel you need to address before you let someone else in your life.

Still, though we may be together no more, I will always think fondly of you and the happier hours we shared: the concerts, the riots, the police chases, the long drives, the afternoons spent on the front porch reading, the stretches in prison. And when I do, as I grope for the phantom pack missing from my breast or pant pocket, I'll stop, and I'll sigh.

My dear sweet Camel Lights, I'll miss you. I love you.

PS: Let's stay in touch. If you're feeling lonely, I would be more than happy to introduce you to some school kids.