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Drunk on stories
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Drunk on the lives of the characters - their bravery, their joy, their struggle, their pain, their persistence and resiliency
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Drunk�
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on the unconditional and awe-inspiring love shown and felt by these people

even in face of unexpected betray from someone so close that they trusted
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- like a dull carving knife into one's heart
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And yet, through the pain, through the agony, they bear a vicious grin with blood pouring out of their mouths, standing tall to fight.
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Or they reach out and continue to love, love, and love and save
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the one who had coldly pierced their exposed hearts
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even if it meant taking the knife out of their murderer's hands
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and further impaling themselves on it
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(for all those characters who still chose to save those who hurt them, even if it meant giving up their lives)

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I am drunk on their courage
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their dammed unwavering loyalty�
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(Oh Stefan my heart broke for you and I am in awe at your faithfulness to Marsilia)
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I am drunk on their ability to find what they firmly believe
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And stand for it in the face of unshakeable odds
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And they come out battered, bruised, damaged, and perhaps even weaker than before
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But before you stands a man who you can only look upon with great respect
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and admire for making the tough choices of doing what they think is right
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- though sadly enough, as we all know intimately, that sometimes that doesn't mean it is
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(Thank you Harry Dresden, for teaching us that it's okay that sometimes our very best is not enough. We must always pick ourselves up and keep going, even through the face of our mistakes)
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I am drunk on the lives they have lived
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The decisions they have made
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The adventures they have embarked upon
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The loves that they had
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The enemies and temptations they fought
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The things they learned

The lessons they taught

I cry as they have cried through heartbreak, pain, and death

I wept among their family and mourners in their funerals

I laugh at their comical antics or the absurd situations they found themselves in

I felt the fierce swell of triumph when the underdog stands straight once again,
from the beaten pile of limbs,grinning with blood in our teeth and conviction of our victory in our eyes

- or at least our damned determination to see it through at the very least

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I drink and drink and drink

of these stories spun masterfully by skilled writers

I drink until I cannot tell if I am drinking ambrosia or poison,

until I cannot tell if it inspires life in me when I am weary of the struggles and monotony of life

�or if it leaves me drugged for a fantastical substitute�

numb to real life

unable to cope with facing my own trials,
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always longing and desperate for the next hit

Like a drug addict who despises his sorry situation

but makes no move to confront and make a change in his lifestyle

choosing instead to escape by injecting another wonderous shot of ecstasy

that slide through your veins like the sweetest bad decision you've ever made

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I drink until I only know that I fear sobrierty

And then I drink some more so that even that fear is gone and I can live through

someone else's pain and someone else's joy

so I do not have to face my own.

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