Cigarette Glow

Sometimes as I walk under balmy, cloudy night skies
I see a little orange glow wink into existence
When a lone walker across the street here
Or down the block there lights their cigarette.
I wonder if the foul purging ever carries away a little piece of them when they exhale.
Does each breath take away one more tiny piece of a memory, perhaps,
Such as that
Of an ex-lover,
Or a long-disowned sister,
Or maybe a friend who forgot them long ago?