We Lived Through Scars

James Bay: Scars.

"You're setting off,

It's time to go the engine's running

My mind is lost,

We always knew this day was coming

And now it's more frightening than it's ever going to be.

We grow apart,

I watch you on the red horizon

Your lion's heart

Will protect you under stormy skies

And I will always be listening for your laughter and your tears

And as soon as I can hold you once again,

I won't let go of you I swear.

We lived through scars this time,

But I've made up my mind

We can't leave us behind anymore.'

The intensity of the Tequila burns the inside of my throat. It stings the interior of my nostrils making my eyes water, not that they need any extra assistance at the moment. The sensation brings me to the realization that I'm not grown enough to handle this shit. We'd all love to pretend we're mature enough to conquer whatever life has to throw at us, but when you've been or are being annihilated and I mean nothing short of earth-shattering obliteration you come to comprehend the magnitude of what you've experienced. That thought hurts my head, huffing darkly while running my fingers through my hair. I lean my tattooed forearm on the broad window frame forehead sulking against it as I stare out into the void of an abyss. Where? I have no God damn idea.

Life has been a total blur lately. Every country, city, and town looks the same. It was a reason to run in the first place, right? Nothing challenging or new existed for either of us. All we are is fabricated machines doing others' bidding and merely following instructions. I'm twenty-one years old and I feel like I've lived a thousand lifetimes yet I'm second-guessing everything because I don't think I've ever made one God damn decision on my own or for myself EVER.

It's been two grueling weeks since you left and to say I was still fucking beyond pissed would be the understatement of the century. We were supposed to do it together you bastard, wasn't that our plan all along? And at this very moment, I'm not exactly sure if I could ever forgive you for leaving me behind in the way you did. God, I hate you right now, you can be such a selfish wanker sometimes.

Feeling the back of my unsteady legs hit the bed I slump down on the edge. My chest, belly, and head hurt, and the pain in my bones and the natural growling in my stomach remind me that I hadn't eaten or slept in days. I can't. I don't remember the last morsel of food that passed these lips, but I do remember my last alcoholic drink. Why? Cause it's eight in the morning and the glass is still in my hand.

Tequila is my poison of choice. I'm trying not to judge me, but I can't. Self-deprivation and pity have always been my finest and most vital characteristics. My ability to breathe freely has been extinguished. I find myself exhaustedly struggling to complete even the simplest of my everyday mundane accomplishments. I think my machine-like facade is rapidly deteriorating.

The others are perplexed, acting all bizarre and egotistical. They're oblivious, but sense something more is up. My aggressive antics in Jakarta didn't help matters much. It kinda sealed the deal on my newly acquired level of crazy. It's been all paranoid stares and demented whispers since then. Yeah, I get it, they're also pissed that you left and how abruptly you handled it. But you and I know it's not the same for us and never will be. I'm doing my utmost to hold the delicate tapestry of my existence together and scrambling just to keep myself intact.