It has been raining for almost a week now (besides Wednesday). I switched to Custer's Blend, slightly too sweet for me. We are not having a blast. "Blast is over-rated" I murmured. "Whatever you have to say to make yourself feel better."
I am inexperienced; thought temporary relief meant better for the good; and that it'd be easy to live with "When kicking off a vice, it is normal to take two steps forward and one back." You are naive, believe forever is an option, that love would be enough. At times I caught myself looking at you with a strange sense of unnamed hatred, especially the moment I step out of the metro and see you act like a booze hound so deeply dived in the self-loathing see that it is impossible to see the shore.
We are in different dimensions, both holding on to that one milligram of hope, and we are losing it.
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