Dreams made reality aren’t always for the best. When he was a young man, he had two desires. The first was to marry his childhood sweetheart and the second was to make it big with his band. The day the record company signed them on was the very day he asked her to be a part of his life forever sealed by a gold ring paid for with borrowed money. An album was cut and the guys kissed their girls goodbye as they climbed into the busses and drove away with stars in their eyes. Night after night, city after city. Four towns in he was hitting eights and drunk on his ass. Seven cities and he woke up naked next to a woman he had never seen before. That first time he called Her and confessed everything. He heard within her voice the barely contained tears as she said they’d talk about it when he got home. The second time it happened he picked up the phone and dropped it again before she ever picked up. The third time, he rolled over and sacked the nameless girl again without a second thought through the lens of cocaine and rum. Months passed but by then the drugs and the fame had numbed him to it all. When he walked through the front door, there she stood tear-streaked cheeks and open arms. He fell upon her neck and prayed she would stay by his side and forgive all he’d become. But by his third album, he was an expert at hiding all his transgressions, or so he’d thought, until he came home to an empty house save the letter addressed to him lying there on the floor. She had left him for someone who actually respected her and always told the truth and didn’t sleep around and never, never drank. She hadn’t cashed the checks. They sat there on the counter, a glaring reminder of the best thing he’d lost. Would he ever, he wondered, recover from the blow to his heart, as he sat in his recliner night after night, the remote in one fist and a bottle of Jack in the other. And as the hours dragged and his grip loosened, the bottle dropped, clinking quietly on the pile of its fallen comrades who had silently gone before….
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