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It was quiet in the room, except for the tocking of the ancient longcase clock in the corner. I was alone and seated in my favorite armchair. Alone, that is, except for my good friend Glen. I held the bottle of Glenfiddich as I carefully refilled my snifter, the brown liquid gurgling softly as the precious 30-year-old elixir slithered into the glass.

 

I'm alone. But if you were to see me, you'd see my glassy eyes, hear my slurred speech. I've been having a good long talk with my friend Glen this evening already. I'm not your common, everyday, garden variety cheap drunk. I'm an expensive drunk. And tonight, Glen has made me hang up my charm and wit at the door, along with my coat and shoes. But that's OK, I'm alone and no one can see me slouch in my armchair or hear my mumbled ramblings.

 

I was blue. Maybe it's the time of year. These summer days are so bright and the nights are so dark by comparison. Maybe it's the time of night. It's so quiet in the neighborhood in these wee hours.

 

I have a good life. I have many things that other men would envy. A successful and satisfying career that provides a very comfortable living. Good health. Good friends. A girlfriend to die for, who adores me. But perhaps it's just our lot in life to want more than we have, to never be satisfied with riches.

 

I know money can't buy happiness. In this hobby, it's bought me moments of pleasure beyond measure and broad grins as I've walked out the door. But as I waded back into everyday life, the bliss always soon faded. And that was OK, it came with the territory. With her, it was no different, at least at first. But with her, I became the happiest that I had been in a long time. Certainly happier than I am now.

 

I haven't seen her for quite a while. And most of the time, I'm just fine. But when there are quiet moments such as these, I sometimes think of her. She was lovely. Always had been. And I knew I was going to get in trouble when I was finding myself more and more drawn to her, and I could feel the wispy tendrils of an infatuation starting to take root.

 

And infatuations can be dangerous, in this hobby. Luckily, they're easily nipped in the bud. When you try to avoid them, that is. A little time away, a little perspective is all it takes. Sometimes, a little chemical assistance can help.

 

I took another sip of the single malt.

 

The flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long. And our flame burned so very brightly, too brightly to last. It blinded me to the truth, and it singed us both before burning itself out. Its cold ashes have been haunting me at moments such as these ever since.

 

I'm allowing myself this one night to mourn. One night to wallow before I put her behind me. One night to relive those sweet moments and ponder what was. One night before I forget her and move on.

 

I'll be alright tomorrow, in the bright light of day. I'll have my work to keep my mind and fingers busy, friends that I can call upon. People around me, every person a new conversation and a new distraction. And time will heal all wounds. And tomorrow, I'll also have a thumping in my head to distract me as well.

 

I looked at the longcase clock, its steady tocking providing comfort to me, as it had for more years than I can remember. I could only marvel with wonder at the tales that it could tell from its two centuries of existence. I, too, will survive, like this old clock. And tomorrow is another day.

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As always, Birdboy, your words encapsulate the thoughts and emotions of not only yourself but also fellow CERBites. Well written, well done! Bravo!

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Ditto to all the above. I real love your stories. Why do we continue to do "this" to ourselves....It is because it feels so good at the time; a sense of fulfillment, appreciation and being. Thanks for the recount, Birdboy. I have only had 18 yo Glen. I can imagine how smooth 30 years must be going down.

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A much belated thanks, everyone, for all the kind words. I've kind of been away for a while but I do appreciate the well wishes.

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