Vietnam

The ice clinks against the side of my glass as I set it down on the table. I’m trying to distract myself with Netflix again because when I lie alone in the silence my mind starts to wonder and thats the last thing I want right now. I tried some visual mediation last night (I’m unsure if thats the right name but it fits I’m sure you know what Im getting at

I put you into a box, with some other things id rather not indulge with my words, in the back of my mind. I imagined a black box, the wood carved with some kind of intricate detail, a thick gold lock on the front. I lay there and watched as your name and your face and the smiles you’d left me with tumbled into the abyss, with some other memories, like dominos, falling; tumbling. And I lay there and I let it settle and then I slowly shut the box and locked it with a gold key. I looked at it for a while, trying to figure out what colour my feelings were and how to envision them flying into the box too, ready to be shut off for a while, preying it would work. I let it sit for a minuet or two, divulging  in the moment and then I pushed it, far back into a dusty corner of my mind, one that hopefully I wouldn’t have to touch again for a while.

The traveller boy, the one I’m so confused over, has left. He has gone. ‘I will not think of your smile’ I say to myself, almost shuddering at the warmth seeping off of the moment. ‘I will not let you make me laugh again’ I have to make my own laughter from now on and must get used to the feeling at once for my own sanity. Im going into rehab next weekend, thank god for that because I think now is a better time than ever. My overactive relentless  mind will not let me rest and yet I’m still awake at 1am pouring drinks. Still smoking more than id like too admit and trying hard to fight the urge to go out and shove a concoction of various substances up my nostrils. Id like to forget if I’m honest, perhaps I should tell that to my therapist I’m sure it would be good for her to know. But forget what exactly? What exactly am I running from? I’ve been trying to figure it out for such a long time now I guess now I’m just running from the mistakes I made when I was running. And id rather not think about that at all.

You were the ice to my Titanic, the coke to my Escobar the one thing that tipped me over the edge and left me falling, falling, falling helplessly, into the unknown and unforeseen. And now I must face the consequences, must lie alone in the thick, black, darkness and let my thoughts secrete from the cracks in my mind as I try to patch up the holes and push them back into the plasterboard. But it is thin, and they are relentless and no wonder I run to substances to stop it all crowding me so heavily. I often wish I would not wake up tomorrow, is that so bad?

I know you don’t love me, I know you don’t have the capacity in you to love how I do, so fiercely, so dangerously. I know we will never be, and yet I can’t shake you, you have sunk deep into the very foundations of my being and honestly, hand over heart, I want to switch that feeling off. To drown you in the liquor I sip upon and plaster you to the walls of my psyche and cover you with paint. To believe that? To leave certain people with something other than just there own sense of grandeur. Well fuck you. Ill be spending my 23rd birthday in rehab whilst your fucking a European girl off the coast of Vietnam.

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