(no subject)
its always the shittiest when you cant find an ashtray for your cigarette. you begin resting it on the edge of a cup or vase or some drunkards sleeve. normally this would be completely unacceptable, however you're drunk. so you continue. your last thought is a remembrance from sobriety past. normally you try not to think of anything. anything at all is preferable to vivid memories of shit you try to repress. it helps to have sad music surround you. the music soothes your soul. i like to revisit the past and pretend i'm a tourist in a strange city. i take a tour of our time together. it's vaguely foreign and an utter waste of time. i see your face, your back, the way you drank your coffee... always black with no sugar. i pretend this is the first time ive seen us. you're always fresh and full of the promise that i knew would one day decay. you lounge in your chair and share charming annicdotes. you plot ways to avoid your mother's phone calls. occasionally i annoy you to the point of distraction. i found some of my greatest humour in laughing at your idosyncracies. the way you froze up. the way you hated me for knowing you inside out and never being able to be gracious. when we danced and laughed i made a mental checklist for all your faults. which step would expose him for the fraud i'd already sentenced him to be? every word and movement was swept up in the air of artificiality. after some time i took a break and smoked another cigarette. you kept dancing by yourself but looked hurt and i grew sad as i blew smoke in your general direction. these are the moments i try to forget. but mostly i just need an ashtray.