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musings

Liquid Courage

I drank a whole bottle of wine by myself – a gift from my brother on his wedding day, a half-case of Cotes Du Rhone, specially shipped in for me – and still, that was not enough.

I long for you in ways verbalized and ways so elemental, so primal, that words fail – words fail and deeds fail, wishes and dreams fall flat, incapable of conveying, explicitly or fantastically, this yearning I have for you and for us – for an “us” to exist and to continue existing.

I am moving on. I am surviving; I am even living. I must! I’ve no choice. You’ve given me none.

Still. I yearn. I ache. I hurt. I… I imagine a different ending. Ha! I imagine that it didn’t end, that this is a nightmare, a long-running one that has to, eventually (it must, it absolutely must) will end.

Prove me right? Hell, prove me wrong! Prove me something. Lift me out, if you can, if I can, out of limbo, out of this purgatory of the heart.

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About Quinn

In it but not of it. A reformed player, now watcher. Speaker of raw truths.

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Raison d’etre

"Raw," she said. "I want something primal. I want something bare and naked. I want you to give me this life raw, unbidden, unhidden, free, fair, and true. Can you do that? Can you do that for me?"

One may only try.

December 2013
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