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I Quit. You Win.

10/20/2016

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Picture
Yesterday I wanted to drink.

All I could imagine was the foamy taste, the smell, the drink.

All I could think of was walking out, saying goodbye, and never coming back.

All I could think of was, this is it: You Win.

I have never felt so low, so angry and filled with rage to the point I crashed heavy, and felt utterly worthless.

Like no matter what I did, it was for nothing.

Why do I care?

So I stared at the bottle. And I opened it.

The crisp smell leaking out as liquid started foaming, the smell hitting my nostrils, a smell I hadn't smelled in what seemed like forever, but triggering everything inside me, sending flashbacks, sending memories and images I had long lost forgotten, or chosen to forget.

I grabbed the bottle so it wouldn't spill, and a bit of it got on my fingers.

The smell strong now, powerful, intense.

So I poured it down the sink. And I stared at the liquid foaming its way down to oblivion.

Never to be recovered again.

I washed my hands, but kept the empty bottle.

I scarred it, and set it on my counter.

A reminder.

A memory.

A flashback.

A poem.

A piece of artwork.

A writing.

A weakness.

A power.

A choice.

My choice.


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