The bar is dim enough
for ghosts to sit without being seen.
Soft lounge bass.
A woman’s voice on the speakers
complaining about how unfair wanting can be—
I know that tone.
I have lived behind that tone.
The bartender leaves the entire cognac bottle
like he already knows
I’m not here to sip politely.
Outside, the world is fences and fields,
people mooing across distances
they never cross.
But here—
the air is warm,
time moves like cigarette smoke,
and I don’t have to explain
what I survived to breathe this soft.
I swirl the glass, watch amber light spin,
and think:
If there were gods,
they’d sit here.
Not in churches.
Not in bright rooms.
But in the quiet places
where honesty doesn’t echo—
it settles.
I am not praying.
I am remembering.
The music says, it isn’t fair.
I say, it never was.
And yet—
here I am.
Still drinking.
Still breathing.
Still mine.
Nov 7, 2025
Nov 7, 2025 at 10:54 AM UTC
The bar is dim enough
for ghosts to sit without being seen.
Soft lounge bass.
A woman’s voice on the speakers
complaining about how unfair wanting can be—
I know that tone.
I have lived behind that tone.
The bartender leaves the entire cognac bottle
like he already knows
I’m not here to sip politely.
Outside, the world is fences and fields,
people mooing across distances
they never cross.
But here—
the air is warm,
time moves like cigarette smoke,
and I don’t have to explain
what I survived to breathe this soft.
I swirl the glass, watch amber light spin,
and think:
If there were gods,
they’d sit here.
Not in churches.
Not in bright rooms.
But in the quiet places
where honesty doesn’t echo—
it settles.
I am not praying.
I am remembering.
The music says, it isn’t fair.
I say, it never was.
And yet—
here I am.
Still drinking.
Still breathing.
Still mine.
