Sitting under a frozen bridge.

This February darkness feels ruthless. Some days it’s like I’m sitting under a frozen bridge hoping a piece of it falls—not enough to end me, just enough to knock me into a sanctioned pause. A reason to disappear for a bit.
Sobriety has me plotting my escapes differently now. I watch my friends numb themselves, and sometimes there’s still that feral ache in me to join them. To start with a dirty martini, ride the buzz with Hendricks and soda, chase the edges with a couple lines.
​To forget the world. Forget myself. Forget everything.
But it’s not the memories of those faded nights I miss. It’s the feeling.
Waking up the next day and being held like it meant something… or like it meant nothing at all.
How do you replace that with clarity, when clarity is the thing that hurts?
And winter doesn’t help. Everything feels distant, despondent—like my mind keeps slipping out the back door looking for an exit.
So maybe I just need to name this feeling. To admit it. To breathe it out loud.
Some days I just want to sleep until the season changes.
Until the sky softens.
Until whatever this is finally thaws.
Until I thaw.