Drunk and Dazed

I haven’t been going out for a while now. I don’t mean the partying dance and booze type. I believe I’ve outgrown such phase some years ago. I guess I just miss hanging out – sitting at the gutters, cold beer in one hand, a lighted cigarette on the other, music coming from the other lane, stare at the moon, think, talk and laugh a little, then walk home.

I was pretending to be sane and sober when alcohol has actually gotten the best of me. I mean, who wouldn’t when you’ve had gazillion alcohol mixes the past few hours, when you’ve been dancing with souls you don’t even know, when you’ve been inhaling smoke since you’ve stepped foot on this place. But that place was heaven – some place you never took me to nor accompanied me to.

I tried to believe I still had a portion of sanity then. I tried to speak like I was pensive, like I was some poet under extreme inspiration. But really, I was Sappho overwhelmed with wine. We conversed in verses – like there was an actual, truthful philosophy between the moon and its existence that night, like there was a correlation between it and us and gravity and reverie. We ended up disagreeing. We had opposing theories. We were on different sides of the chessboard.

That was our first disagreement. That wasn’t a lovers’ argument though, because we no longer were.

These memories, guess I better not drink and speak again.

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