Bourbon Cinderella

Hey, come on try a little
nothing is forever
there's gotta be something better than in the middle
But me and cinderella
Put it all together
We can drive it home
with one headlight

The sad and strong hit hard in the heart

The jukebox was right as always

It was about to try a little, drive it home, with one headlight, a last effort of will to pull trough the dark of the night.

Here they were, the bartender, the maid, the blind pianist and the last three of us costumers, a drunk, a tired old lady drinking by the corner of the counter, and me, depressed and trying to find a reason to live, at the bottom of my glass, I was afraid to find nothing in it, that was why I kept refilling it; I guess I was a glass or two away to be like the man tasting the dirt of the table he was sleeping in and was in no position to be judging.

They say every life is a story, an old man in my life once told me that, he was like a father to me; what do you do when you dont know what is in the next chapter of your life, at the turn of the page? It could always be that the next is blank, and that means two things whichever gives you the least amount of fear, either it is a white slate, begin again, anew, or....simply there is nothing next, the ink ran out.

I know the song is about keeping it together, stealing away cinderella, but thats what songs do, they give you something to think about, to meditate on.

I shall knock myself out, see if I wake up, wait for a new dawn. Lets see what the morning shine has to offer a man at the end of a crossroad.

I pull the gun from my pocket and place it in the counter along with my car keys and enough money to cover the bottle of bourbon, a cab, a hospital/hotel, and a generous tip for both the bartender and the lady with the pretty face who will most likely have to deal with my puke on the floor after I pass out after three steps trying to leave the bar.

The first headlight of the morning, I find myself on a soft place, a stangely familiar bed.

It's been years since I have been in here, but I can still recognize the lineup even if it is decorated quite diferently, I can see a familiar face behind the shining glass in front of me, smiling, hugging two children and a beautiful woman who I tought I would never see again.

Yet here I was again, back at home, after all these years, and besides the family portrait here she was, with a face as beautiful as I remembered, both as I remembered my daughter and as I had seen my wife once when she was her age.

My Elloisa, Ella, Cinderella.

She gave me this tired smile with bags under her eyes, not angry, but welcoming, forgiving.

I sniffed, apologized; we hugged, we cried.

She never blamed me, she had searched for me since I left her when we were both in black, both in pain.

When I was filled with remorse, guilt.

After all these years, all those dead ends and blindness. I had woken up.

I was home


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