Sorry, bourbon

The bourbon shook in the train. Was it the turn of the road or the man walking near her table? She wasn’t sure anymore.

“Is there anything I’m sure about right now?” — she asked herself. “Maybe this drink. This one is solid.”

Life was solid once. Then the workload got just a bit heavier, the friendships a lot thinner and weaker. Time slipped away — our one and only two-faced pal.

“How is this wrong? Didn’t you go through this all?….Well, that’s silly…No one has gone through that, none of you.” She wasn’t sure if all this was wrong or just misunderstood.

It’s not the same, you know. 
Having a life with a once lost goal — that is wrong.
Having a life with looking at the goal from the wrong angle — that is misunderstood.

So was it lost or just needed a shake?
Do you need that goal or any?
Do you need the taste of bourbon just to shake?
Do you need a crooked floor to slip away? Or you need a break and your two-faced pal to come around?

“Is this coming back to me? Can I decide? May I?” — she was breathing in and out and almost silently dropped the glass.

“Sorry, bourbon.” — she thought with a newly found rage in herself. “It’s time. I need to make a visit to my old pal.”

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