So I had this epiphany, or more of a metaphor. I thought it was such a good thought that I had to share it with my brothers of the leaf, so please read the whole thing.
I equate a cigar to the beauty of a star, they are all born of humble births, small in size (relatively) but then they all grow. Such as the leaves of the tobacco plant. Then after the growing period is done they are all fermented, they all age and gain their own individual, and unique personality. Each from the same strain and bloodline, but each aging with its distinct characteristics. But at some point each of their aging is done, and they have become all that they will become, some however can mellow and have subtle changes such as fine aged wine, but the tastes deeply rooted in their DNA. After the aging period has stopped they each are rolled, and meshed together some may have come into contact with different entity's such as the binder or wrapper of a cigar, or a star running into different gasses. However they have been meshed together forever. They each have their environments to stay in that will enhance their behavior. But soon they are both ignited, and they are both entangled by the same catalyst. The thing man has used since the beginning of time. Fire. The fire extenuates their tastes. They each burn bright and beautiful, some brighter and some cooler. The middle of each burn with its own full potential. Soon though they will each start to die out. But the death more beautiful than the birth. They burn the brightest just as they are about to die, they're flavors exaggerated. Just as they die they implode and then explode with awe inspiring beauty. And this beauty, you wish wouldn't end, you wish you had more time to witness and evaluate. But as the beauty passes, each whimper, and with the last bit of everything they ever were, they die a heroes death. All you are left with is the memory of the beauty that was witnessed. But stories will be told of the brightest one. Some will never exist again, and such beauty passes never being noticed. But for the few who notice they will never forget the stars in which they watched. Some die more beautifully than others, and each the same way. But the beauty of a cigar is nothing short of a dying star.
Sorry for the length just a thought from a BOTL!
I equate a cigar to the beauty of a star, they are all born of humble births, small in size (relatively) but then they all grow. Such as the leaves of the tobacco plant. Then after the growing period is done they are all fermented, they all age and gain their own individual, and unique personality. Each from the same strain and bloodline, but each aging with its distinct characteristics. But at some point each of their aging is done, and they have become all that they will become, some however can mellow and have subtle changes such as fine aged wine, but the tastes deeply rooted in their DNA. After the aging period has stopped they each are rolled, and meshed together some may have come into contact with different entity's such as the binder or wrapper of a cigar, or a star running into different gasses. However they have been meshed together forever. They each have their environments to stay in that will enhance their behavior. But soon they are both ignited, and they are both entangled by the same catalyst. The thing man has used since the beginning of time. Fire. The fire extenuates their tastes. They each burn bright and beautiful, some brighter and some cooler. The middle of each burn with its own full potential. Soon though they will each start to die out. But the death more beautiful than the birth. They burn the brightest just as they are about to die, they're flavors exaggerated. Just as they die they implode and then explode with awe inspiring beauty. And this beauty, you wish wouldn't end, you wish you had more time to witness and evaluate. But as the beauty passes, each whimper, and with the last bit of everything they ever were, they die a heroes death. All you are left with is the memory of the beauty that was witnessed. But stories will be told of the brightest one. Some will never exist again, and such beauty passes never being noticed. But for the few who notice they will never forget the stars in which they watched. Some die more beautifully than others, and each the same way. But the beauty of a cigar is nothing short of a dying star.
Sorry for the length just a thought from a BOTL!
