Nights With Too Much Whiskey, And Nights With Just Enough

It's like searching for something that you'll never be able to find. When you've lost all hope, and yet, the only thing that makes you smile is the thought that there still is some shred of it. That's what this feeling is, that's what losing someone you care about is, that's how it feels when you're sitting next to the bed of your sister when she's in a coma and all you can do is rearrange the blanks and hold her hand. You hold her hand even though she can't feel it. Complete loss, but yet you try so hard to grasp onto a ledge, constantly grasping, while your heart is aching.
You never knew that your heart could actually hurt.
And your heart aches again when he leaves you. This time it feels like you're being punch repeatedly in the heart, even though you know that neither one of you wants to end it. Simple time and place forces it to end. And that makes it harder. The strength that you used up from being strong when your sister was in the coma, forces you to melt into tears when he leaves you. When you can't talk to him everyday, when you can't hold his hand, or wake him up with kisses in the middle of the night.
Kisses you don't feel like you can give to anyone else, because they belonged to him first.
And the pain returns when your family leaves the only home you've ever known. This time even more excruciating, because the clumsy band-aids from the last two times fall off even more easily now. Your head aches, your eyes hurt, and your stomach is in knots. The whole time you're home, the last time you're home will be your home, the last time that those trails will be yours and they will be your neighbors, you're crying. You stayed stoic for over fifteen years, but you can't do that any longer.
And on that plane ride away from the trails which you could navigate blindly, you muster up your strength again.
You go back to that transient life you've been living, in that city that you've had to call home for the past year and a half. The place that you know won't be your home for long. People are rude, people are mean, you honestly don't know where the support system you had disappeared to. So you search for those things that used to make you happy.
You can finally sit alone in a room again, and not be dragged down by dark thoughts.
You can finally glory in your sadness.
You can finally write again.
You haunt those coffee shops, drink the chai, and even realize that it's okay to turn to vices again. The friendships that you pushed away for a year and a half are the only things that bring you comfort now. You reminisce about nights with too much whiskey, and nights with just enough. And you make plans for more nights like those.
Because even when everything goes wrong
she came out of the coma
you and he started talking again (even if that sometimes makes it harder)
your memories of that home will never be taken away from you
and the coffee shops
which grant you peace of mind
are always there.
And your friendships that you resented for so long, you realize are the only things that you have that are constant. And your family is the strongest thing you have. The people that knew you when you were growing and changing the most, are the ones that are going to be the most willing to accept you when you've forgotten them briefly. The best ones are the ones who don't blame you for changing or forgetting.
Because when you feel like there's nothing left for you, you turn around and realize all you've had. And you're reminded of how much you're going to have. Because it's constantly changing, just like you.
Because it all gets bad at once.
Until you realize that it will get better.