Ground Zero

After two months of abstaining myself from your presence, I found you again in one of the places where we once built a memory.

You found me—drunk and I bet you thought I’m happy. With a bottle of beer of my left hand and a cigarette on my right, slowly dancing to the songs that enveloped that crowded place, who would’ve thought that I was actually bleeding while I was standing on my feet? Who would’ve thought that I am weakened by the lyrics, by the ambiance and by the familiar faces around me?

I thought it was over—the storm inside me, or maybe I should rather call it the hurricane. The force is still there, destroying my sanity. Wishing to turn back time is a cliché but I am probably one of those hopeless mortals who want to make the hands of time turn counter clockwise.

I want to go back to where it all began. And when just in case it happens, expect that you will never ever get to know me—that drunk person whom you found fascinating and carefree and happy. That drunk person who have been sincere and loving and full of hope. That drunk person whom you’ve actually destroyed.