I am a lonely painter
living in a box of paints
I'm afraid
You're in my blood
Like holy wine
You taste so bitter
And so sweet.
I could drink a case of you Darling
And I would still be on my feet
Still be on my feet
Oh I am a lonely painter
I live in a a box of paints
I'm frightened by the Devil
And I'm drawn to those ones - that ain't afraid
I remember that time you told me
You said: Love is touching souls
Surely you touched mine
Cuz part if you pours out of me
And these lines from time to time
You're in blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet
I could drink a case of you Darling
Still be on my feet
Still be on my feet.

(~the brilliant Joni Mitchell, of course.)

So much for that as love song to me, from him, I suppose.....what's the point of it now? Of it ever?
I should have thought more before - remembered my alcoholic self, because while it's almost certain he still stands, I am not on my feet. I am floored and laid low, from pain, drunk from lack of sleep.
Waiting for comfort. Waiting for time to pass, so that healing will come, and for peace to invade me with some relief and release.
I pray for understanding and help.
I pray for compassion and rest.
I pray for sobriety and grace.
Amen.