07.21.20

It is never going to get easier. The doorknob will never turn without hesitation. The hill won’t get smaller. Lay in the dark and know that there will never be light. No contrast. Just darkness and solitude. Forty two. Forty fucking two. What a mess. The phone calls and the lecture. The constant shuffling. Put a mask on. It’ll cover the sadness. Nobody knows if there’s a smile under there anyway.

Wristband memories and the lake and swimming all the way across. Piling into the car and taking all afternoon every summer. Innocence. I was your age once. I was your age when I met her. It wasn’t for a couple of years, but when she lied, she lied real hard and changed the course of my life and your life forever and she never asked. She spun it and she manipulated everything to get what she wanted because that’s what addicts do. She’s a cunt and she will be until she dies and if there is any kind of justice in this world she’ll die all by herself. I don’t even use that word, but I can’t spell it big enough for her. 

Doesn’t matter. It’s the past and now there are only Tuesday’s that are bookended by other days and it’s all just a big shit show. The world is on fire and everybody hates everybody and it’s all being managed by an asshole in the White House and a bunch of newspapers and talking heads that only concern themselves with posterity and self-preservation. I’d drink it off, but I don’t care to. Wouldn’t change anything anyway. I suppose I have that. Twenty years sober. Could be just a day. That’s all we get anyway. 

Broken. Busted. Dusted. 

I appreciate you. I love you. You have value. 

Rinse. Repeat. 

Get up. Just get up. Get up and put your pants on and get back out there and try hard. It’ll get better. It’ll get better and eventually everything won’t be hard. Just get up. Please get up.