I hardly know my own face, reflected in the eyes of these friendly strangers; as timeless and scared as the day I left.
Time has ripped a rift between all of us that no amount of whiskey spillage can fill or fix. Although, we might bridge it.
They don’t drink anymore.
They don’t see them.
I hear he’s even sworn off her, in the hopes she’ll learn a lesson about pain and bitterness and heartache and more…
It’s like those salty rivalries from bygone years have finally run their course, leaving behind a kind of naked sadness that will never be addressed without remorse.
A fucking troupe of elephants, just chilling in the living room, waiting to return to their source…
I will have to build a bridge if I intend to have anything in common with these creatures. We can cross it every weekend, or wave from either side.
Because right now there’s naught but time and whiskey between us.
And no one of us drinks enough anymore to bear the brunt of that tide.
The Bluejay Nest 