Day Seven

It was another bad morning, alone and so acutely aware of it.

Or, as we call it around here: Monday.

I had friends. At least, I had people that I used to hang out and drink and laugh and ass around with. I would be there for them when the pillars of their worlds were shook, pouring energy into them until they were strong enough to manage.

Mine are shaking, crumbling and I am alone staring into the baleful, dark eye of my coffee cup. I don’t think I left enough strength for myself. Even my tears are weak and too shallow to leave the eyes they slowly fill.

No good deed goes unpunished.

The cages we make for ourselves are the worst.

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