Sober

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"Sober"

It's about 6:30 in the morning, streaks of the golden sun, beams of light just starting to break through the pools of ambient blue skies. Perspiration shining like drops of dew on his bleached pale skin. The air that hangs around him feels heavy as his mind so easily glides back to smoke-filled nights in early October. He tells himself it wasn't his fault, she was a hurricane trapped inside a twelve dollar bottle of aspirin. She was always one overdose away from the cemetery down the block and she wasn't good for him. Yet the very sight of her drug induced eyes, glazed with misfortune as freckles danced on her cheeks and the cracks in her lips made everything else just fade. How easily he fell to his knees for someone who could barely walk in a straight line half the time.
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She sure as hell made him feel alive. Bruises on her skin came with questions that hung in the atmosphere for too long before being dismissed. The chemicals they drove her far beyond reach, flooding in her bloodstream as he just watched. And even when it rained his phone would buzz with the same two words flashing across the screen "I'm outside", he'd look through his window to find rain boots, messy hair and eyelashes exuding raindrops. How he wished she was sober.-H

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