Saturday, May 20, 2017

I think I finally have it all out of my system. If not, I'll probably write more about Isbell tomorrow. Deal with it.

The first time I heard the words, the old lovers sing, I thought it'd be me who helped him get home...

That's when I thought, I know those lovers. This guy is talking about being a drunk and the damage of humans he left in his addiction's wake. 

...home was a dream, one that I'd never seen until you came along.

I stopped what I was doing and looked at Samantha and knew who he was singing about. 

Damn near strangled by my appetites, Ybor City on a Friday night...

Someplace in Kansas. Maybe South Dakota. Or was it Missouri? 

...couldn't even stand up right

All of the above. Fuck.

When she was drunk she made cancer jokes... I buried her a thousand times...

That one. That's the one that turned me into a stone block. The waiting and not hearing in a fluorescent room standing up to the voice screaming the worst in my mind. The goddamn fucking act of reassuring her every three months while secretly begging a god I don't believe in for just a little more time. 

...where's that liquor cart? Maybe we shouldn't start, but I can't for the life of me say why

The white knuckle of it all. 

And the story's only mine to live and die with, and the answers only mine to come across. But the ghosts that I got scared and I got high with look a little lost... ten years ago I might have thought I didn't have the right to say the things an outlaw wouldn't say...

I earned these scars. Most of them were inflicted by the person who hated me most. 

There's a man who walks beside her, he is who I used to be and I wonder if she sees him and confuses him with me. 

That's the guy that got her. I wonder if she misses him. I wonder if I was more fun, more alive in her eyes. I still wonder sometimes. 

I had to summon the confidence needed to hear her goodbye...

Remember that lover who thought it'd be her? 

And I repeat the mantras that might keep me clean for one day...

That time she noticed and took my hand. I was just sober a few months. She didn't know a lot about what went on in those meetings, but she knew there was something about a higher power or some shit. She offered to pray with me. I didn't drink that day. It was a good day. 

And I'd had enough about a month ago tomorrow... god bless the busted boat that brings us back

This dude is talking about getting sober. And glad for it. Fuck yes.

When they picked me up I made a big noise, everything to blame except my mind... with you there's always something to look forward to, my lonely heart beats relatively easy.

This has just been snippets of what Southeastern means to me. I could almost go line-by-line. It's a perfect record to me. It's my story. It's every recovering addicts story. 

...but I made it through 'cause somebody knew I was meant for someone. 

Titty sprinkles!

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