It's the dreams. I drank so hard for so long not to stop them, only one way that happens and even I'm not yet that far gone. I drank to put myself below them, to not see what was happening in my own mind. Still the screams, the animalistic, feral roars when the lights were out. 5 months sober now.

He relapsed this morning. Young kid, early 20's you know? Damn. These streets just don't want to let go. You can understand the nature of addiction intellectually all day without knowing the cost. From Hell we crawl, with chains around our necks and weights on our ankles. Poor kid. Fuck.

I remember when someone used to ask how my day was. Like, it actually mattered to them. I remember being annoyed by it, as though my time was being wasted by someone just trying to connect with me. I remember empty rooms and bare floors, and I remember memories that were never made. I remember you.

You probably know me. The one you lost to addiction, who's life didn't turn out as planned. The bent and broken by the world he threw away. The recovering one, the old face in a new city clinging only to a memory of what used to be. You probably know me, and don't even know it.