So Gone (Ed Sheeran)

Living life like I'm giving up.

   Without a second thought, I sat down right in front of him, watching as his fingers moved on the neck of the guitar. There was no sign that I could be bothering him so I stayed there a while, just watching. It made me think about those times I used to do the same, just sit and play, hoping that someone would appreciate the sounds I made enough to at least smile at me.

   When the man stopped, he looked at me with a sad smile on his face, nodding silently as if he was thanking me for staying with him. Before he could leave, I gave him the little money I had left in my wallet. I wasn't rich, but he surely needed it more than me. He took it, smiling more sympathetically at me, still not saying a word. Then I headed home, feeling suddenly tired of living.

***

   My head was aching. It was as if my brain was tapping against my skull; a feeling I knew all too well.
   I slowly got out of bed, wondering how I had even made it home last night or why I even tried to get out of bed. After all, I had nothing to do today, no one to see and no place to be.

   Taking my cup of coffee with me, I went downstairs to see if there was anything in my letterbox. An old habit I couldn't get rid of, even if I hadn't received anything in months. Some things stuck to us, as they said. I wasn't exactly hoping to find anything so I didn't get disappointed when I found the box empty. However, my headache worsened when I climbed the stairs back up.

   Why didn't it become easier with time? Why was it still so painful? If our bodies could get used to anything, why were the hangovers always so bad? A part of me was glad I didn't grow insensible to this specific pain because it would have been the beginning of the end. That was if my deadly routine of drinks and cigarettes wasn't already leading me to the gates of hell.

   When I walked back in the living room, I glanced at my guitar. I hadn't picked it up in so long. I hadn't dared to for it had caused too many conflicts. And I hated when we fought.
   The man I sat with yesterday was completely into his world. Anyone could see that the music he played seemed to help him, to make him feel better, even if it was for such a brief moment.

   I wanted to feel better. I hated the way my neighbours looked at me as if I was a threat to them, to their happiness. I hated seeing the reflection of my miserable self in their eyes. I loved her, I did, and I hd loved her for so long that I didn't know how to fill the hole it would create in my chest if I let this feeling go. Yet, I knew she couldn't control my life anymore. Hell, she wasn't here anymore.

   I finished my cup of coffee and sat on the couch, a few inches away from my instrument. I hadn't laid my hands on it in months. I must have looked completely mad looking at a guitar as if it was going to jump on me. I was just so doubtful. For all I knew, I could have completely forgotten how to use it. There were already so many things I had forgotten how to do.

"What have I done to myself?" I murmured, knowing I was responsible for this, not her. I was angry at myself for being so weak that she could still hurt me so much when she had left what felt like an eternity ago.

   I got up abruptly, cursing as I hit my foot on the furniture in front of me. I couldn't do it. Perhaps was I afraid of restoring a bit of hope of getting better again. Hopes were meant to be crushed and I didn't know if I would be able to survive another fall.

   I went to the fridge and took a beer. It was automatic: when something was wrong I turned to alcohol to numb my senses. I couldn't help it. Yet, it sometimes felt paradoxical because I either felt extremely depressed and hopeless or numb. Was it possible to numb a numbness? Maybe I was trying to figure it out, even if that put my life at stake. I couldn't care less.

   I stared blankly at the wall. I was so sick of doing the same poisonous things every single day. I was sick of wishing I could go back in time to see the signs. I was sick of being myself.

   I didn't realize what I was doing until I heard the sound of glass breaking. Suddenly my eyes recovered their function and saw a yellowish stain on the wall, the dead body of a fractured bottle on the ground. My nerves took control of me as I hit the wall, the sudden pain feeling strange and unknown.

   I couldn't keep on pretending that I was fine, living -surviving- in a life which felt so foreign to me. I couldn't accept that somewhere along the way, I had lost control of my own body.

   Without thinking, because apparently I wasn't able to anymore, I went to the bar. The ten-minute-long walk didn't feel that long and before I knew it, I was sat at the counter ordering a drink without greeting Laura.

"Give me the strongest thing you have, please." I said flatly.

"I'm not sure it's the right..." She began but I cut her off.

"I said please." My harsh tone must have surprised or even scared her because she left without looking at me a second time.

   When I grabbed the glass filled with what appeared to be whiskey, I heard Laura gasp. "What have you done to your hand?"

   Without answering, I emptied the glass in a few loud gulps and left money on the counter. I was about to go out when I saw the girl who reminded me of myself alone. She had a look of disappointment on her face which made me wince, even if it was no surprise.

"What?!" I growled when I passed her. I just couldn't take it.

    I leaned on a brick wall, slowly sitting down against it, holding my head between my hands. This wasn't like me. I didn't growl at people, in the worst of cases I just ignored them.

   I couldn't stop trembling which just worsened when I understood that I had gone too far, that no one could help me but even worse, that no one was willing to, mostly because I always rejected any form of human interaction.

   The only person I could count on was the one I hated the most in the world : myself.