ceciliatan

Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

I woke up with one of those hangovers that feels like a railroad spike through the eye socket, but I didn’t much care because I had an armful of warm, sleepy Ziggy under the covers with me and I was too out of it to really remember where we were or what year it was or anything. Maybe it’s stupid, but it was moments like that, where I couldn’t remember there was anything to be anxious about, and his skin smelled familiar and everything felt right about having him cuddled up with me, that made me think there was something worth fighting for there–something I was thirsty for, something I needed–even if once I came to my senses we’d start fighting again.

But right then I didn’t come to my senses. I dozed despite the headache.