It is not always ideal to be sitting at a coffee table at home alone with no one on your side. At those times the only merriment you feel is of the alcohol on your bedside table whispering into your ear with an impish glee

‘where did it all go wrong?’

it gets darker as the night passes while you are on a pendulum swinging between derision and clarity about you, and HER.

were you blind all along? you cannot help but wonder as the coffee table of yours starts to become a distant memory; when you close your eyes all you see is darkness trying to imagine her touch, and then feeling the sting of betrayal as that touch is now reserved for someone else.

darkness. emptiness. insanity.

I was blind all along.