just waiting to spill my red wine on this white sofa

i'm remembering how broken i was last year. listening to the one band (you know, that one band) that seemed to be a part of the ride beckons those thoughts sometimes. less and less over time, yet still true. i suppose sometimes i want a tiny glimpse of that time, or to feel for just a few seconds what it felt like to be so gutted. i try not to wonder too much why this is, but tonight i pursue the reasons, attempt to make sense. in contrast to current life, i suppose the contrast is what makes that time seem kind of surreal. i am not dead, i am not many things and i am many things that i was not before. another aspect of this may be that the feelings that encompassed that year of love and half of despair were so intense. so vivid with life and figurative color - even through the times that felt so dark. during the time after this particular end, i would have never thought that one day i would tinker with the fantastical concept of wanting a bit of those dreadful feelings for even just a few seconds. who does that? but hello!! melanie, you felt something. that was proof that you were emotionally alive. at one point, perhaps more than? it is strange. i sense a loop. you may tell yourself, never again. i will never again be so vulnerable. i still do this, but i know it is untrue. it will occur, probably time after time after time. some say after the first time that the next are never as bad. i doubt that. feelings, love, dedication - all so subjective, too subjective to count on any absolutes in between a beginning and an end. so count on just that. things begin, things end. it is the way the universe works. so i suppose in the meantime just live. well, or die.
it's whatever.

Broke

I think I have died a few times in my life, and I think I will die a few more. Tonight was surely an awful death.

Die: to lose force, strength, or active qualities

Year

The grouping of days into annuals is with less significance when each day is broken down into hours at best
Hours into minutes of twiddling neurosis

Note : I am currently bunking amongst eleven, caged Russian rats and a self declared Jim Morrison/Jesus Christ reincarnation.