Proust's Madeleine

    The vodka on her breath brings me back to those days long ago. The yelling, the tears, the pain, the fear. I'm still that young boy cowering in a corner, I'll always be that young boy. And I'll always accept the coming apology afterwards. Pluck out my eyes, my organs, my bones, stick me in a meat grinder and hug the mushy bloody mess that you left behind... I'll still forgive you, and I'll still love you...