Insatiable

I remember the first time I passed out.
Well, I remember a few hours before the event. And I remember waking up. And I remember getting up out of the bed my friends had heaved me onto and stumbling around, still drunk. That’s the same as remembering, right?
Today, I’m sitting on a bench weighted down with flaking paint, looking ready to keel over under my weight. I’m watching the patterns the sutting sen, wait, the setting sun makes on the river. I can see my body shivering at the touch of the icy air, but I’m numb. Vodka’s good like that.
“Still drinking?”
“Still drinking.”
That’s the conversation every time I see him. When we were younger – much younger – we fell in love, but it was never meant to be. On occasions I still tell him how much I love him, because I never really let the dream go.
So many years, and I’m happy or something now, but it makes me wish that we’d kept it together. At the time we would never have guessed it was forever, and maybe it wouldn’t have been… but life without him has become forever, forever of wanting the same thing. Shit did I just… yeah I think that’s a bit lower than before.
I blame the drinking on a lot of things, but never being with him is my favourite excuse… sometimes you just want a hug and there’s nothing like… that warm feeling of my darling liquid and that feeling when you laugh, and you don’t know why and all my best words come out because I’m not scared to let them flow…
The river’s still there. I’m good like that really I am; I don’t wander off nowadays because apparently, even now, you can still tell when I’ve been drinking. I don’t tell anyone but my friends say that people still know. I guess when you’re so-o-ober you can tell things like that because I don’t remember that the world’s actually happening. To someone… someone… those sober people. Well you’re not living right, yes I know I’m pointing. I can point!
God, let me shake my head clear for a minute. Serious now, I know I’ll have to sober up eventually, like a couple of hours, and then I’ll regret this… you know, you always do. You know, you slap your head – oh god wincing right now – and you look ashamed, though on the first layer under the shame you don’t really care. Drunk love. But right down at the core of me I do regret every mouthful it leads to this darkness I don’t know how to escape.
Basically, I’ve lost years of my life – the best years right – to… what? This wonderful feeling that’s all fucking fake. The thing is though, they say ignorance is bliss and that’s true. But if you can’t have ignorance, forgetting is nearly as good. And I know I end up crying every time I drink, but I don’t care if I don’t remember it. I just want to shut the voices up. What was I saying?
The one and only for the lost and lonely I just made that up then! Have you ever held vodka up to the light and see how wow it sparkles. It sparkles like stars seriously it does and it makes me shudder and loves me how I say and that’s why I love this feeling. It doesn’t let me down.

I’m so tired. I don’t know how got here but don’t care just want sleep. I’ve bound myself to an a neverending hunger that can’t be filled. This isn’t life I swear… I just wish I could have loved you properly… please hold me?