Another night, another six-pack.
No stars, no moon.
With the icy nectar comes a replaying of all the memories, all the good things. All the things that were, all the things that will never be.
Every moment of laughter, every moment of pain.
Every smile, every tear.
The voice in your head telling you all the things you don’t want to hear. Things you know are probably true, things you don’t want to care about, things you try to forget with every full long-neck.
The doubt closes in, the insecurity, the fear. They linger, sink in.
And so, you open another one and try not to listen to yourself think. Just for a little bit, a tiny break with minimal relief.
It’s not the first time you’ve felt this way, probably won’t be the last. Nor should it be.
At least you feel this way because you cared, because you gave a shit. You left yourself open, exposed. You let someone in, you tried.
It’s better to feel sadness than to feel nothing at all. Because at least you risked sadness and pain to, maybe, find a small sliver of happiness. Better than doing nothing, feeling nothing to prevent it all.
You gave it a shot.
You attempted to live.
A Toast: To the Dark Times