No traces at all, not even the scattering of leaves.

January 25, 2013 § 1 Comment


Memories

Memories (Photo credit: Karthick R)

Reflections are only memories” – Evergreen – Ryan Adams. 

 

The night was just starting to settle in my blood when my friend put the question to me. I have to admit it’s one that been pacing around inside my head in recent months. One that I’d spent many passenger seat journeys and expressionless stares on. “Do we ever sort all of this out? All of our problems? I mean, really, do we ever level out?” He put to me from the other side of a stained bar table top. Ok, so when the question finally came it was made three trips, but it was never a question that was to addressed efficiently. I thought. I thought about exactly I had worked out from when I was 16. I had made progress, sure, that I was aware of. I was less anxious, less wide eyed, more sure of myself, sure that I could be trusted with myself. I have since found my limits when it comes woman, drugs and drink. Found those limits by crossing them and crossing them, just to make sure, then double, and triple, the count turns to a drink order and the time the limits crossed turns to notched blood on a wall in my brain. I’ve had positive experiences. I’ve had negative. I’m not sure if I’ve seen more battles lost than I have seen battles won. Maybe it’s good that I lost count. Hell, who am I kidding? I’m still lost. Still anxious. Still wild eyed and fucking crazy. When you get older the crazy just gets further between. You learn what you should stay away from, but that’s it, you don’t learn to stay away from it. Be it drugs, drink, or pretty girls with cocaine smiles. The conclusion came soft. Easy. Like being punched jokingly in the arm by someone you used to love, but don’t really know anymore. Imagine if you worked it all out? Imagine if you had that three drink ease. Fuck. This is another messy one. I think it’s because I had a dream last night. Someone I used to love was there. It’s strange. That kick they give you. Like I just slipped away from her. I slipped into another universe, where enough time had passed that she never existed. Where waking thought wasn’t her. Where the alarm and shower and the moment before the toaster pops isn’t her. Like the train and the walk and every love song isn’t her. Like I escaped some kind of extraordinary Orwellian thought police. Like I made the impossible possible. Like I gave up some terrible drug, after months and months and months of clucking. I got to promised land. I got to clean. Clean of her. Almost everything will turn to poison if you hold onto it too long. I learnt that. But no. I wasn’t free. Not for today at least. A trip back to that dark place, just for the day, until she slips my mind again. Nothing heels like time. I sure as hell learnt that since 16. Sure as hell.

Oh, and for the record, the conclusion I drew –  Who the hell would want to sort it all out anyway? Wherever you’re at now, beats boredom doesn’t it?

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