Whisky and My Immortal

Whisky and My Immortal on a Saturday night. That can only mean one thing: the blues are here again. It's usually like fighting of a looming madness, but not tonight, tonight I invited it in to keep me company. Maybe that is a sure sign the looming madness finally won? Maybe I'm finally so used to this that I'm too afraid of the alternative to really want anything else? That's a scary thought for sure, but what if...? It seems happiness is a Hollywood concept, created to sell movies to a mass whose need for hope is an endless pit. So I let the strong fluid play around in my mouth, burning my tongue as it passes over before it launches down my throat, leaving a trail of taste and numb sensations in its wake. And I convince myself I like it, because in fact I do. It has become a part of me through these years. And I like that. It sort of acknowledges the sense of sadness that haunts my soul on nights like this. It does nothing to really sooth it, just respects it for what it is and sits there like a friend as company. Put on some music that touches your soul as well, and the soul lets itself cry for a while; exorcising the demons so that it can go on for a little while longer. Looking at the stars you realize that you're not really small, it's just the universe that is to damned big...