I think water is like love. Plain to the eye, yet essential in our daily life. And so very often we disregards its importance, only appreciating its worth when we’re dried to the bone, or sick to the core.
I think a bad love is like beer. Or alcohol in general. We know the harmful effects it does to us yet are strangely attracted to the way it makes us feel. Like we matter. Like we own the world. Like tomorrow doesn’t matter cos we have tonight. We have him. Or her. At that moment.
And we wake the next day to realise we’ve been stripped bare of who we are. Left naked on the road to bleed dry.
And we return once again back to the well, to replenish who we are inside.
I don’t think I make much sense. Must be Mondays. Or maybe I taste your lips while sipping this wine.