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Zinnebir XMas (25)

(bottle) The aroma was almost overpowering at first, but after that it was difficult to even detect. The flavor was mild and tasty. It was kind of strange to pull a cork from a bottle of beer and find something this generic inside. Good, but not great.

I'm not complaining.

Really, I'm not.

I did this to myself, on purpose, with full awareness of what it was going to do to my mood. I knew what was going to happen, and I did it anyway. For several reasons. Eight or so that I've mentioned publicly, and at least one that I've kept private. I did it because it was necessary.

So I'm not complaining.

Just observing.

Observing that this can, and has, picked up exactly where it left off. I sort of thought that it might have faded a little bit after so many months. I sort of thought that, like a two-liter bottle of Coke, that things might have gone a little flat despite being so tightly capped.

Didn't happen.

The only thing that's different, the only thing that's different this time is that I seem to be able to withstand it better than I did before.

Which is, of course, not saying much, because before I couldn't withstand it at all. Because before, it was killing me.

Now, I think I just might survive. Whatever that means. However I might define who I am. What I am.

Lonely.

Heartbroken.

Empty.

Pussy.

But you know, that's okay. It's nice to feel something again. It's nice to just let things wash over me again. It's nice to just let these emotions flow through me and dictate my moods. It takes all the pressure off my brain when I let my heart run things for a while.

I'd thought that, once I'd proven my point, that I'd put those corks back in. I'd thought that, once I'd reassured myself that what was truly important to me hadn't changed one fucking bit, that I'd bottle these feelings back up and get on with my life again.

And therein lay the problem with my great plan. There might not be a life to get on with.

I once wrote these words:

For he died in the depths, and he was reborn in the depths. Without their cold embrace he cannot exist.

The he referred to was, of course, my lovely self.

You know what? I miss her. I have no reasonable rationale for still missing her after all this time. I have no justifiable excuse for what happened to me when she left. I have no logical explanation for how these feelings can still flow through me so strongly.

And right now, right now I don't want any of those things.

Right now, I just want to lie back, and remember, and imagine, and wish, and smile, and hope, and cry, and long, and laugh, and wait, and dread, and hurt, and love.

What's a little insomnia if it gives me all that? That's a pretty small price to pay, if you ask me.