my poison is Glengoyne Single Malt whiskey. aged ten years.
recently, i’ve been weaning myself off alcohol because i realized i loved who i was on it, but nobody else did.
i started drinking when we broke up because it was the only way to bring myself up.
but it’s called poison for a reason, and last night, i realized how temperamental life is, and no amount of poison can ever cure. life is one long illness, and it passes in a blur of colours and dreams. days blend into one another. after a while, it all just goes passing by.
last night, a good friend broke up with his long distance girlfriend because he didn’t want to give her false hope of getting married. prolonging the inevitable is scary.
last night, i realized that i like my new him, but i don’t quite know if it’s love.
i think i’ve just gotten so used to the idea of you that it’s always surprising when other people creep in.
my poison used to be whiskey. these days, it is me who’s aged ten years.
and my thought is maybe you gotta learn to be kind to yourself.