An occupational hazard of mine is the accessibility to free alcohol. Yet, this week I bought my own litre of Svedka Clementine and put to use the flask I received on an aforementioned job at the Cigar Show. Rainy and storm-filled as today is, I'm blasting music from the 1970's courtesy of the "Swingtown" soundtrack and reflecting on a year ago from today. Anniversaries are like gravestones, these sad reminders of what has been lost in yet another year. A year older and yet all time feels the same. Luckily, Hall and Oates blasts through my speakers and reminds me that it's "Heartbreak Time."
I've spent the past twenty minutes leaning out my window and watching the neighbors in the courtyard pruning their gardens while engaging in my once-every-two-years menthol American Spirits. I thought time was the healer of all wounds and so did Darryl Hall. Yet I find myself longing for last year, clinging to the undiscovered hope for the future, that time will align me with those I miss the most. "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" now fills my small quarters with burning incense and fragrance of strawberry candles. I find myself missing New Hampshire, missing the one that got away, and wondering if time will really solve all the unspoken mysteries or if life ends without clarity and closure. I'd imagine in the scheme of eternity, closure must manifest at some point. Or perhaps it is neverending...
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