In the Mouth of Madness

I tell her that I miss her.
Part of me cringes inside.
We have this curious dynamic and there's a wealth of feeling beneath the surface of our interaction. It's quickly snowballing into something far more serious than either of us intended or anticipated.

This is a motherfucking problem. There's a ton of reasons why we should each walk away. There is heartache and disappointment and the like looming ahead. Things like this almost never end well.

She puts her head on my chest and her long dark hair cascades of my hands around her waist. God, she is beautiful. There's just no way I can extricate myself of my own free will.
She takes my hands and pulls me toward my bedroom.
"Lay on top of me" she commands with her young girl voice-impression she does, asking impatiently and slightly petulantly but hopelessly irresistible.
Her soft face presses against mine and her hips grind into mine and her body aches for mine.

The evening has begun to set. I don't feel the call I once did that would bid me leave my woman for the unknown cheap and tawdry thrills of nights spent out in the maelstrom of drinking and carousing and false revelry. I'm thankful for this new peace which filters into my life from time to time these days.
On one hand, I'm nothing like the man I once was: he who would leave a beautiful girl just to go out and rage the night away pressing my luck in every increasingly dangerous fashion.
On the other hand: I find the life of sobriety and emotion to be a newfound experience in actually feeling things very much as if for the first time.

If you thought doing drugs and getting loaded was crazy, facing the world sober is its own bizarre trip to be sure.
You wake up one day, realize you've been sober the better part of a year, that you don't miss it, and now that you're really coming to grips with the power and control this gives you rather than the sloppiness which alcohol and drugs caused, you are present in so many more moments and taking it all in and.....you can focus your mind with laser-like precision instead of the untold wasted hours upon hours of life spent fucked up.

Good luck and happy hunting,
  it's time for happy hour and perchance another bird will flit its way onto my path....
       - Yrs. in Christ