Melancholia

I've spent more nights away from home than I care to admit. Drowning my proverbial sorrows in whatever brand of intoxication that I can find next.

All I wanted was a friend.

Someone who could care about me in the moments when I don't.

I guess loneliness leads to vices and that only seems to make things worse, but I won't stop until I can find that piece I'm missing.

That's when I met him.

He had bad news written all over him, magical little pills buried deep in his pockets, and his sights were set on me.

I should have left and never gone back.

I should have learned to fix myself instead of trying to find someone else to do it for me.

But I didn't.

He wouldn't let me.

And in the strangest way, I want him to break me more than I want him to fix me.