a study in love — part 1

19 Jan

Why do I measure sorrow in the time elapsed since I last drank? Why do I count every second I am sober, as if it could tell the world I am a functioning human being? Why do I call myself a coward and a fool when that is just an elaborate lie to push back the next whisky shot? I was told never to lie. Lies hurt. Lies never last. Lies make you believe in the impossible. I want to measure my time left on this earth by the demons I slaughter. And I call you by your name, demon: love.

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