Old Rivers Run Deep

So, here we are, again – in the old, dark basement bar where you used to serve drinks on weekends, and where I used to run through the money I made working night shifts at the cylinder factory by the vacant airport. Of course, on nights you were working, you’d give me my drinks for free – even when I’d order two Cuba Libres for me and another girl I was with. Yeah, that’s the kind of mindless prick I was back then, and the kind of kind-hearted and naive soul you probably still are today. This low-ceilinged place is still filled with the same old mouldy smell that would cling to our clothes and hair and make our bedrooms reek at least two days of every god-damned week when I still lived here. You’re talking to your friends now, and I’m talking to mine, and when our eyes meet across the crowded room, we give each other a brief, covert smile and look away. It’s been five long years now since the last time you’ve let me into your warm bed. It had been my birthday, three months after I had broken up with you for the second time. I had been knocked down in a stupid bar fight, and we had both been drunk beyond repair. The next day, I lay in your bed with a bruised cheek and the worst hangover since probably last Tuesday and waited until your family was out of the house, so I wouldn’t have to see them on my walk of shame home. When I think about how often I have disappointed your parents, whom I loved more than my own back then, I already know how stinking drunk I’ll be later tonight. Continue reading “Old Rivers Run Deep”