He was cleaning out the relics of a destroyed relationship. His vinyl played melodramatic choruses of relationships loved and lost. He felt as if he could relate with every “epic” ballad. He had wanted the exercise to be cathartic, and cleansing however he continued to grow infuriated as time went on. Every hidden corner had a lost ticket stub, or love note she would intentionally leave him to cheer him up… What a farce.
-“I’ll always love you,” all ended by these seemingly innocent words. If only it was a physical wound that could be treated with a little time and drugs. There was no space that could be filled with the simple application of metaphorical gauges; that’s what the whisky was for. With every bridge to nostalgia he came across he was that much closer to having to buy another bottle.