It’s seven thirty in the morning. I have not slept.
And I am drunk.
That’s not to say I am leg less. As you can see I can still type coherently. I just cannot sleep.
Haunted by my past, what I have done. Haven’t done. Should have done. Haunted by what I feel was my fault.
Now I know most people will never see this so I feel safe to write this. The people who know me feel I am strong, a leader, always good. Or so they let me believe.
The night is a cold mistress. She lures you with the tempting bussom of the night, promising times that can let you forget who or what you are. But it is never the case.
These sleepless nights I will blog my living dreams and thoughts.
Admittedly not as much as I do not sleep. But when I feel like it.
I drank alone tonight, in my flat.
I do not feel like I belong to be doing my masters.
I am a fake.
I am fake.