By Chris Lihou
I am melancholic, soaked in whiskey, saturated with rain.
She’s dumped me. The armature that held me together has crumpled.
Staggering, swaying, somehow I find my front door—a door to an empty house filled only with her echo.
I don’t just miss her. I am now missing.
Perhaps, more Speyside liquor will help me find myself or at least numb this gut-wrenching loss.
Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow, when I’m sober, I’ll apologise, make her understand, beg for forgiveness. The transgression was, after all, fleeting, physical, and meant nothing to me. But it upended everything.
What an absolute, bloody eejit I’ve been!
Sad and so beautifully written.