If I find a way to separate what can be from what can’t be, then maybe Sasha and I can make something work. At least for the next ten weeks.
Sex isn’t love. Love isn’t s*x.
One can exist without the other…
I stand up. The bag of pills is still in my hand, I realize. I look down at it and sigh. As if I needed another reminder of what Sasha has done to me, I’ve got his babies and the meds I need to keep them alive right here with me.
The bottle label is in Italian, but I don’t need to speak it to know what it reads. Or at least, what it might as well read.
For chronic delusional syndrome. Take twice daily until reality sets in.
I throw back a pair of them and go to get the bicycle.
The first glass of grappa goes down easy. The second, too. By the third, I’m almost starting to breathe
