the knife point carved into the table, its blade cutting deep into the weathered wood, the words became clearer with each stroke, gained meaning as they formed
the bottle slammed down on the table, half full with a gold liquid, driving the point home harder and sharper than the blade
an addled mind managed to scrape a confused sequence of thoughts together out of muddled images and darkening emotions
“what if four years ago, nothing had happened? what if she hadnt..?”
the bottle tipped back yet again, at the very idea of her, the mind scrambled to focus on something else
“no, no, theres another, she makes me happy, shes perfect, i love her, ive moved on…”
why are you still afraid?
“because i cant lose her, not like,not like grey”
if you keep this up, youll push her away
“well, at least she wont be…”
wont be what? dead? that wasnt your fault
“i know-”
this will be
“no, i wont let it”
he looked down at the words carved into the table and threw away the bottle
one chance
make the most of it