One more round. One more round. Darren Bacon
You know that feeling you get when you can’t sleep. You are alone, and it feels as though you are the only person awake in the world. You need somewhere to think and you wish there was somewhere close by you could grab a drink.

As if there was just some bar, where the bartender is classic and the room vibes like the stars. The lights are low and the drinks are crisp and sharp. That every sip brings you closer to clarity and every word you utter there carries more charisma and is more profound than every other time it mattered you have those things. Time is lost like the terminal of the airport, but more like the insomniac hours at the same; where few tread and fewer speak, but every passerby is connected by some universal understanding. Every step is earned and every singular passage is acknowledged by some mythical pantheon. At the end of our minds and when we’re out of minutes, when we build bridges to cross the expanses of our will if only to speak to each other that last time. It is here that we decide who we are, that feeling when infinity takes over your mind and you relinquish the futility of each deliberate action. Choice is a crossroad that intersects perpetually in large grids, and real life is a rumour lost to the gloss of every fleeting moment. Waiting and watching, thinking about the mental thaw, the countless giddy ruminations, the hyperbole of our lives. Somewhere someone watches just the same, a dark doppelganger that hums with the exact lack of words and the overflow of sparkling ideology. When your paths cross, you won’t need a plane to fly. The cosmos will call you before them, the womb of the world will unchain you herself. But for now you wait, in the quiet of this disquieting limbo. While the characters dance on nimble toes and the audience claps with heavy handed pretensions. Living for the seconds in between what you haven’t been able to do and what you know you will never do; the daze is all you have. That feeling when you can’t sleep, and you come to this place to remind yourself you are not the only lost soul. Hoping that eternity stretches out merciful moments to tear you asunder from earthbound ability.

Consume your pint of purity, guard your grail carefully, while you observe the passing spirits in the periphery of your psyche. For soon, you will deliver your cup to its proper bearer, and there will be just enough to fill her soul with perfection.

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