That's the old saw isn't it, bad things come in three's. At least I hope that is the case. If this were a twelve round fight I'd have to say that the other guy is winning.
I have been beaten up, down and around the ring. My legs are wobbly, I have two black eyes and one hell of a concussion. The only reason that I am still on my feet is that I am too stubborn or perhaps too dumb to go down.
So I keep fighting because I don't know what else to do. I stagger around the ring, trying not to collapse. I search the crowd for my Adrian, knowing that if I can see my girl's face I'll find the strength to continue.
But she's not there.
Alone in the dark I hear things, the echoes of the past and whispers of the future. She is gone. Can't say if it is for good or for what. Silly 70's songs like Just When I needed You Most play in the background, but I can't focus.
I try to buck up, be a man who can shrug it all off and maintain that edge, but I fail. The minutes stretch into days and the hours feel like a lifetime. My dear sweet Adrian, I am not too proud too beg, but I wonder will it help.
Every day there is more bad news. Every day I wake up by trying to go back to sleep. But it doesn't work. So I get out of bed and trudge over to the shower. I turn it on full blast and step into it. The water is so hot that it burns me, but I don't turn the knob.
Rather punish myself and continue to sow seeds of self destruction. I should go down. The fight should be over, but I still can't let go or give up.