Cosmic Flight

This feels a lot like seeing a flock of birds flying freely towards the orange-sunset sky. I don’t know how to feel about that, or if it is a good thing or not, because I don’t really like birds.

I’ve read and seen enough books and films on how withdrawal from an addictive drug can be so hideous. They say that when you’re in, there’s no turning back and how the instantaneousness of stopping would make you feel the wrath of the seven hells. The itch will kill you. The absence of it makes your longing more unbearable, no matter how overboard of the line you already are. No matter how ridiculous things have been. You’ll actually wish for the end. You’ll beg to stop. You’ll beg for more, no matter how much you know it’ll harm you way worse than ever.

One more shot.

Please.

One more shot.

One more shot.

Bloodshot.

Maybe that’s what I’m feeling right now.

Maybe I should’ve let it shrink instead because the less they learn, the less they know. The less they know, the less it’s true. Maybe if I did just drink them down, maybe it’d be as if it never happened. Maybe I can even trick myself. Maybe it’ll just sleep along with things that I already forgot. Maybe when I think of it again, it’d be less true.

It’s just a part of that. Soon it’ll be over. You have to get through this. I know you can. It’s hard and it’s painful just like how it’s suppose to be. Maybe you don’t see a way out because you’re far from the start and you’re halfway there. Soon you’ll see the shore. It’s the only true thing you should know.

But then I always see flocks of birds in the afternoon, good thing I love the sunset.

 

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