Dazzled

 

 

I’ll try to describe the way that it felt
to tell my own mother her son is a failure
his heart is too cold to love anyone but himself

Sometimes I inadvertently think of that summer.

It’s usually when my eyes are itching with lack of sleep, or when I feel a late night cool breeze run across my skin. Other times it’s when I get the familiar smell of a cigarette or get a whiff of Captain Morgan. I remember the feel of liquor sliding down my throat and the fuzzy happiness spreading throughout my body. I remember the unsteady way the room would tip sideways and the feel of the lumpy springs of a couch sticking in my back when I eventually collapsed, exhausted and so drunk I couldn’t stand anymore. I remember the butterflies in the pit of my stomach (so very seventh grade of me) from the first real, actual crush I’d had on a guy in years. I remember the thrill of feeling like for once in my sad life I was being cool.

Yeah, I remember that summer well, despite the intoxicated nights, and for a while all I had were fond memories and I missed it. Sometimes I still do. I remember having a bad day and thinking that at least I could get wasted that night. I spent a majority of that summer drunk, at least 3 or 4 nights a week, and I did it mostly to impress other people. I can’t lie and say that it didn’t feel good at the time, and that I don’t still miss those feelings. When I do drink nowadays, those feelings come back and I remember why I started drinking in the first place, despite the fact that I hadn’t touched alcohol before my 21st birthday.

The things that bring me back most are the songs that I used to listen to that summer, and it reminds me of drunken nights on my back porch, or in living rooms, stumbling around and laughing too loud at things that weren’t funny. Then they remind me most of the lows, that moment when I was so drunk that things weren’t funny anymore and I was just so completely and utterly sad that all I wanted to do was fall back into my own bed and cry myself to sleep and hurt. I don’t miss those parts. I miss feeling carefree and cool, even though I was just doing it to impress people, and feeling like I was living in the moment for once. Dwelling on the past doesn’t do anyone any good, but sometimes I wish I could revisit those breeze soaked 4am nights, the planet tipped on its side, the taste of a stolen cigarette on my tongue and the person I wanted more than anything across from me.

Sometimes I’d give anything just to have that back for one night.

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