. . . And You Don't Drink
THE PAIN is worse than you can ever remember. You look up and say the Serenity Prayer, and nothing happens. You pace the floor and then sit down and light a cigarette and then get up and fix another cup of coffee and then take a deep breath and wait.
"This, too, will pass" is like a scratched record in your brain, and you wonder: When? And you don't drink.
You drive and turn the radio up loud to drown out the thoughts, then stop to look over the city from the hill. You cry, and you hurt.