Aug 26, 2009 22:55
I raise the glass to my lips and allow the transparent liquid go down my throat. It tastes bitter but I guess what I'm feeling is worse. I try to physically distance myself from you because being right beside you would just intensify the pain of the fact that I can't have you.
I drink the vodka that our so-called friends pour into my glass to wash away my pain. They just keep on pouring drinks, oblivious to what's going on between us and what runs through our heads. You drink from your glass as well, but if for the same reason as I have, I don't know.
As the rim of the glass reach my mouth, I try to avoid your eyes. I'd rather concentrate on the warmth that the drink gives me than feel the heat of your gaze.
But glass after glass, my inhibitions are lowered and my judgment is clouded. I just found myself alone with you, away from everyone else. I'm intoxicated by both the alcohol running through my system and the nearness of you. Maybe tonight, I can trick myself and allow me to believe that you're mine even for just one night.
Again, I taste the bitterness of the vodka, but my lips no longer touch the rim of my glass, but touching your lips instead.
madness