Deconstructing Nostalgia

I was smoking a cigarette. Ash to be felt, burning to be experienced and the fear to be ensconced. A tad wind brushes against the fire of the cigarette's edge where the burning began. In an eye-blink as though I were in the mood for love of nostalgia, I ran into the past. Rushed like a train though in vain. I found a remarkable book inside my book shelf amongst a hundred different books.The title was 'Smoking Oneself To Death'. The fire inside me paced with unrest. I, then, had to cast a glance upon a sentence highlighted in 1295th page, which said: 'Your stream of consciousness leads to death, your train of thought leads to that and your way of flight to past too gradually gets to that, just do what you are doing, you're smoking, right? Life asunder, death yonder, just ponder, you are not at all a wonder.' 

I got hindered by the pain on my thigh I got from my Marlboro Red cigarette's fallen speck of ash. The pain was beautiful. For, the pain was rounded by the idea of this mysterious number called 1295. And strangely for the first time in my life, I had to decode what sort of paradoxical insights might have been gone into those deconstructed alphabets which were encrypted in numbers.