The ex factor

I might be drunk right now, or not. I’ve been drinking all my adult life and the anorexic thin line between sobriety and getting toe up is getting blurrier and blurrier with each glass of klipdrift premium I guzzle. Intoxicated or not, my mind can’t help but pop up visions of you, images that I erroneously thought I had suppressed in my memory vault of regrets. I might not act like it half the time but you’re my ultimate regret. We had a good thing going and me being the Neanderthal that I am, ruined everything. If I could amass the requisite extra IQ points, I would built a time machine and go back in time to that fateful moment where I ruined it all. I would go back to the time when all I needed was your embrace to counteract my irrational insecurities, the healing effect of your soft lips, the magical words you used to utter to me to reassure me that everything would be okay, before I broke your heart. I am not smart enough to build that machine, and with the amount of brain cells I murder each day with my binge drinking, I will most probably not be able to construct such a device. All I have are my words, no matter how worthless they are and all I want to say is ‘I am really sorry’ but you don’t want to hear that and I totally understand. I just wish we could go back to the days when the dopamine and serotonin would flood my brain, induced by my eyes catching a glimpse of your face causing a euphoric feeling. I know better though, those days will never reoccur ’cause we’ve long past the point of no return and all I can look forward to is an empty feeling of regret.

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