Maybe tomorrow.

Some days, I break. I feel like nothing, but a thin thread of a person. Everything seems to shut down, my brain, my heart, except my thoughts. They stay, they stay and they overpower me, making me collapse into a pool of tears, itching for the magic drink that washes all my thoughts away.

Pouring myself a drink for probably the hundredth time this week, I look at the glass in despair. When did I become like this? When did I get so broken, so desperate that I gave in to ruining my own body? I throw the glass against the wall, watching the bits and pieces of glass fly everywhere, the liquid on the wall slowly dripping down to the floor. I let it stain onto the carpet before getting out of the house, and run. I push myself to run even after I feel my legs burning, my vision blurred, until I’m completely out of breath. I collapse against a rock, in the middle of nowhere.

This has been the routine for a while now. Pushing myself to the extent where I collapse and end up nowhere, no progress made. I end up going back to the house, drinking the rest of the bottle and smoking a few cigarettes and passing out on the couch, promising myself I will change tomorrow. That I will stop tomorrow and I’ll sober up. But, no. It continues on.

I’ve tried to get over you, to erase all our memories, to remove you from my life, convincing myself you didn’t exist at all. Guess it was the wrong approach. Now, I’ve been overwhelmed by you, my life revolves around your every step. Ever since we’ve been separated, I feel empty. The drinks and the cigarette smoke are a failed attempt to fill the huge void inside of me.

Maybe tomorrow will be my day. Maybe tomorrow I will find my way home.
Maybe tomorrow, darling.

Maybe tomorrow.

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