Atticus Lysander - D11 - cbd2 - done

The first time I fell in love was with the smell of liquor. There's something addicting about having the power of being close to objects that could kill you, but still being able to resist. Does that make sense? Here, let me put it this way: You're standing on the edge of a cliff, sweet oxygen inflated in your lungs and nothing but the crisp atmosphere in your hands. There's the sun rising right in front of you; it's like witnessing a fast forward replay of a flower blooming. You want to grasp the sun in your hands, but you know that one miniscule step forward will send you plummeting down. You don't move, but there's still that ache in your chest that keeps your heels rocking back and forth, back and forth. How could something as beautiful as that be as tempting as death?

First loves are usually the most tragic. When I started drinking, I was a 14 year old boy who discovered that his papa didn't love him and his mama was as dead as the flowers on her grave. No one cares about little boys with dirt smeared across their faces, or little boys secretly exchanging money they stole from their dads' wallet for a small bottle of liquor.

My life is not a tragedy, though - don't be ridiculous. My life is a series of sunrises I've watched by the edge of cliffs. There's something poetic about seeing beautiful things from ugly spots; there's something addicting about always having the option to jump. Maybe one day I might actually have the gut to take the leap.