Hot breeze, 90 degrees. My shirt was soaking wet, but I couldn’t tell if it was from the sweat between my ******* or condensed beer bottle dripage falling from above. My days consisted of no work, all play. Vomiting out every ounce of fluid my body could hold once the clock struck 2AM, only to refuse the water and replenish myself with champagne in the morning. Filling myself with bubbles, hoping it’d make me more bubbly. For it was the season of the sun, of life, of vibrance- but I only seemed to be able to drag myself out from under my drunken mistake ridden sheets once night time arrived. I thrived in the darkness. It made it easier to put my tongue in places it shouldn’t have been, whether that be on a random salty neck or a burning bottle of tequila. It was the same cycle everyday, my goal to forget more than the day before. Until I didn’t remember anything anymore. I desperately wanted to find my way back to my old self, but it was left on the side of a road less traveled. A route with winding trails littered with shards of broken whisky bottles, and with every step I took more blood was drawn. But I was finally letting myself feel the pain instead of forcing its head down to drown in the overflowing liquid in my throat. Hotter than hell, late August brought a new fire to my eyes. I still don’t know how I survived the sweet, sweet summertime.
Summertime, boyfriends, and other things that nearly killed me is a short prose collection by me. Check back next week for part 2!
