See, it’s like this. You think that things are behind and beyond you, that you’ve changed so much and you no longer like the things you once lived for, but all it takes it just half an hour with your college buddies, your drinking friends, those unquestionably bad influences to drag you down into the gutter again to revert you back to your old ways. Competitive drinking has suddenly made a comeback in your life. So while a six ounce plastic cup of Stella spills from your glossed lips onto the front of your dress, just think, I have to win.
Do you understand?
It’s frightening, isn’t it, that the anchor isn’t as grounded as you believed or hoped. How shockingly simply easy it is to go back to old life.
I’ve got blotches on my body. Skin in patches of alcoholic red and white. I’d hope to think they’re just really amorphous hearts.
And you sit at home, reflecting how much you adore your love’s beautiful face.
If I fell underneath a bridge would you catch me?
If I were any less would you love me?
And so on.