Monday, May 3
A week has passed and the thought of not being able to come home to the sight of you still hurts. No more smell of burning bacon in the morning, or sassy side comments.
But, today was the first day I got through without having to resort to alcohol to forget you.
Instead, I suffered through a long fourteen hours and ended up alone in bed at midnight; a tear stained pillow and thoughts filled of you, before unconsciousness overpowered.
YOU ARE READING
21 days.
Short StoryA journal. A pen. A heartbreak. A path to recovery. Not all drugs are in the form of a pill or a stick. Sometimes, it's brown eyed, kissed-swollen lips and a thumping heart.
