southern comfort

It's only been three months since this new way of living has crept into my world, but it feels as if its been much longer than that. I cannot even begin to sort out all of the foreign luxuries and features that come with this state of being and somehow paste them together into anything that even remotely resembles a rational thought, because that's just how crazy this whole ride has been. Sleeping at the crack of dawn. Sneaking out in the middle of the night, cracking the door open ever-so-slowly as to not make it creak. Late-night runs to fast food establishments that would otherwise never be visited if it weren't for the fact that they're open until the wee hours of the morning. Long-awaited trips to the beach, the sunset streaking across the sky, the horizon and the windshield of our car becoming one with each other. Spontaneous outings, literally planned an hour or two before taking place, just packing up the bags and throwing them into the car, our blood pumping as we seek adventure and companionship. Good food, better drinks, the best sex that we never had. Laying down on a tiled garage floor, intoxicated to all hell and back, drowning these sorrows away with drinks that both poison and remedy our souls. Yet deep down, we know it has to end. My eyes speak to me and tell me so each time I look at myself in the mirror. Wouldn't it be nice if we could just forget the other side of things? And to think, I could have had it all.



But this ride isn't over, yet.