I Am Sober And You Are Gone
Sunday morning at 7 a.m. A November Sunday – grey, cold skies. The light creeps through my self-consciousness. One eye opens,…
Sunday morning at 7 a.m. A November Sunday – grey, cold skies. The light creeps through my self-consciousness. One eye opens,…
Sometime, in the middle of the night, as she looks over at the lump in bed next to her, she’ll know that my question to her from so long ago still stands.
To understand us is to make peace with the fact that we’re not like the other guys you have known. Not better. Not worse. Just decidedly different.
She was 10 and the hot, humid air of the Philippines was forever gone. The life she had known was gone. It was all gone.
I can guarantee that for every five guys you see in the bar next weekend, at least one of them is hurting big time.
This feeling that you just gave me. It’s better than drugs, better than booze, better then sex. Except it is sex. Because that’s what love is, it is an angel, disguised as lust.
You got what you wanted, but not what you’re searching for. Because you’re searching for life, something meaningful, and that’s not life – no matter how hard we try and make it be.
I will love you on Valentine’s Day. And I will love you the day after, and the day after that, when the rose petals begin to shrink and die and fall off their stems.
I remember that I was impossibly happy. My heart was hers. All of me was hers.
We all search for love. From the moment we are born, we search. It is the greatest gift we have to give, and the only single gift we ever truly want and need.