I'd promised myself that I wouldn't do lines.
But I don't want to go back to my hotel.
It's the exact same fucking room where I spent an entire night making love to someone.
I say love because we did not fuck that night.
He held my hand, he kissed me, he told me his stories.
He loved me till the break of dawn and he left.
There's a what's-his-face excitedly chatting me up.
But he doesn't interest me.
None of them do, anymore.
I don't have the strength to spend the night alone this time and neither do I want to invite someone only whose body I want to use to pass the time.
So I keep doing it till it's broad daylight outside and I have to head to the airport.
The alcohol numbs pain, or maybe the drugs.
At this point I don't care anymore.
Falling down is not a problem,
Getting back up is.
On some days I run around, happy like a child.
Some I spend in bed, rewinding all the events of these last few years in my head.
I haven't thought about this man for a long time and yet somehow once the alcohol's taken over, I do.
But I let my bruised sense of self overpower my longing.
You have to come to me, I'm back inside my shell and my walls are up again.
If not then it really isn't worth my time.
Or my faith.
You live, you learn.
