“I am angry. I am sad. A bottle of whiskey sits in my lap. I don’t drink it. I haven’t even opened the bottle. But the want is there. The need is there, too. I wouldn’t even blame myself if I got so drunk I forgot my name. No one knows this secret: When Mom died, I did too. And I did so at the bottom of a bottle. Every single day I died again and again until I didn’t feel anything but the cold numbness that comes from not being alive. I am close. So, so close to drinking agai...n. I can feel the desire deep inside me when I think of Sarah with that fucking shadow, that man. When I see her on the hill every time I close my eyes. The damn fireworks blink and fade and every happy memory I have with her bleeds to sweet whiskey and back. But this is wrong. She is wrong. And I suddenly know even an empty bottle can’t help me forget my life, my past, my present; I’ve tried it.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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