Wrongs

Love, as usual, begins beautifully - with promises, plans, rings in your thoughts, and the belief that this time everything will be different. And then reality sets in, with the smell of cheap tequila, strangers' bodies, and recognition - not in the other person, but in yourself, tired of your own foolish naivety. Here, the pain doesn't ache - it booms, plays bass, hides behind bravado and meaningless late-night phone calls. Drunken indifference as a way not to feel. And yet, beneath the noise of clubs and car exhaust, there is a quiet admission: resentment can be louder than love.