a testament to vulnerability

I’m drinking my way there, watching their faces in a blurry haze, my fingers tracing the roads like a stubborn blind man trying to see. Her voice is familiar and yet I can’t make out the words, a foreign language telling me about all my mistakes and how I keep recording them, repeating them, seemingly never learning anything from them at all. What’s the point, she asks, though it’s not much of a question. My hair is tangled and my fingernails are bitten down to the bone and all I long for is your arms around me, just like before, just like before I started reaching these bad decisions, just like before, yet I have no real recollection of you. She asks me if I think things will look different in the morning and I’m clutching at straws and I know it but for as long as I shall live my answer will be yes.