Leave It All Up in the Air
It rained last night; the walks are slippery, icy where the water froze just after it cleared the remaining snow. There's a metaphor in there somewhere about cleaned slates, and how scraping something down isn't always an improvement, but - as usual - I've no idea how to apply it. I've come unmoored. That's the truth of it, distilled. I drift between tenses and times in my sleep these restless nights, and I've a consistent thirst for alcohol. Thus far it remains unquenched, but how long before the last strands of stable snap? A waiting game, probably - reason and responsibility will seem alright soon enough, or they won't. Not much changes the present either way. I woke to a text years ago, remembered anew the other night, something about being the loneliest in a room full of people. Even then it was pretension over substance for her, but anyway - I wouldn't have found my anchor without that tumble. Unintended consequences and the long game and all. ...