caught up in fantasy {berry and maria}
Nov 13, 2015 8:46:14 GMT -5
Post by maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte] on Nov 13, 2015 8:46:14 GMT -5
B e r r y
She was like the sun. It's hard to describe, that certain prickling of my skin so suddenly bathed in blinding light. I know that I should have died right then, combusted in the mere presence of someone as bright as her, as pure and unscathed as she seemed with her eyes shut tight and her cheek rested against the smooth suede stretched of my couch. Maria was her name. We had spoken briefly upon her return to the waking world, my stutter soon falling from the tips of my teeth the more comfortable I became. I don't know how she did it. Made me feel so safe, so welcomed despite the throbbing in my temple from my recent collision with a thick metal pole (in front of her, even.) I'm good and acting a fool, at the end of the day that might be all I am.
But just as suddenly as she had appeared, she was gone. Maria was like the wind, frazzled and flighty; completely mad in a breathtakingly beautiful way. She's impossible to pin down no matter how desperately I clutched to the wisps of her that remained. I suppose that is why I've never had more than one friend at a time. No friend that would want to stick around sober, anyway. I am desperate, begging a girl that I have just met to make her way into a heart that she does not even know. I strangle the slightest bit of kindness, so hungry that I risk running them dry. I wouldn't stick around someone as pathetic as me either.
I guess I'm glad she came to her senses, in the end.
So tonight, I drink. I drink because if I go too long without the familiar comfort of a bottle pressed to the outside of my lips I can feel myself unraveling. Without bitter liquid that burns bloody paths down my chest, I am nothing. I am lost. It's long since surpassed a simple craving, easily ignored urges and quiet nights spent drinking only tea and settling down with a good book. Alcohol is a poison. Disgusting, wrinkling my nose with every sip. It's killing me.
I need it. I need it more than I've ever needed anything.
At this point I'm as likely to die without it than with it so I guess I just figure what's the fucking point of it all. What's the fucking point of this place and these games? What's the point of living in a world where you can have everything you've ever wanted, to live the life you dreamed of as a child if in the end it is meaningless? In the end, I still have to find my happiness in a bottle.
The pictures I tore down so long ago have not left their place on my bedroom floor, collecting dust as I haven't the heart to pick them up, nor to throw them away. Like me, they are trapped in an endless limbo that surely has no end.
I drink at home tonight, emptying the last dregs of a liquor cabinet that has emptied far too quickly, this past month. Upon lonely steps I sit, looking up at the stars coloring the ground polka dotted under a weeping willow's soft shade. My head is stuck so far in the clouds I honestly can't tell what my plans were, I don't remember where I was headed or what I hoped to accomplish. Hell, I don't remember standing up. There is only fire, crawling to the tips of my fingers as my knees glide against rough pavement. I do not pick myself up, deciding to stay hunched over the concrete, retching as blood drips from my bloodied nose onto the tip of my tongue.
I just wish I could remember how I got here.