When I was younger I thought it was a pointless money grab, the bottle. Thanked my lucky stars that I had escaped it's clutch. I wasn't privy to its prowess back then. An anaesthetic for the innermost pain. A silencer of the voices in our heads. A muzzle for the rabid demons harboured inside us.
Like the multitudes of people who do not receive gifts often, I used to believe that I didn’t care about them. That it was not a ‘big deal’ for me. That was until I received a book from my then boyfriend. It was unexpected and perfect. Proof that I lingered in his mind in a significant way. I loved it. To paraphrase Oliver Twist, ‘I would indeed love some more’ of this gift receiving. The joy I felt surprised me. It reinforced a thing that was proving itself to be true again and again in my life. That you can never truly understand something until it happens to you. That true appreciation comes from experience. I started to understand why the girls would go crazy over what seemed like trifles from lovers on Instagram stories. About a year after that, an estranged acquaintance also sent me a book with the sweetest message. I was in a bad way (she didn’t know this) and some force compelled her to show me love at that time. That gesture was the gust of oxygen I needed to emerge from the
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