There is something about that night that I still can’t quite wrap my head around, fractured into parts, and I’m piecing them together to understand its whole, to understand that maybe the lifestyle is getting old. The bottom of the bottle is not so friendly anymore. Maybe I ought to search for clarity elsewhere than in the shadows of this (god damned) city. Images of us driving in circles, getting stoned for six god damn years. “Choose with whom you spend your time wisely kid” I wish you’d have put more weight into these words. This morning my plate looked like a combination of splinters and needles, scraping my esophagus, sharp as shards. I think I might split this meal. These nights have taken more than they’ve left me with, I feel it in my bones. Caught my reflection in the kitchen window, it reminded me of your brother on Sundays, when he would sit at the table and stare at the wall. These nights are wearing me thin, or maybe they’ve just run their course, and I’m seeking something with a little more meaning than depression at sunrise. I’m trying to get better. I’m trying to get better, and if anything it’s for myself.