Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol
By the time I got back I was a mess -- cold, lonely, numb, this close to crying. It's a strange feeling, tethering between inebriated and sobriety; stranger still, to feel so sober while drunk. It's that hypersensitivity, the rational side that never quite goes to sleep, that observes every detail, every moment, every barrier drawn up.
I was falling apart until they put me back together again -- the cool tiles of the bathroom, my dress damp from the shower, soft voices pattering around me. Here they refer to themselves as Natasha, Maria, and Cherry -- but at heart their names come with the gentle lilt of the Chinese language, a part of themselves quietly hidden away in this land so far from home. When they wiped the makeup and tears off my face they did so gently, carefully, like I was something fragile worth caring for. They whispered in Mandarin, laughed with me when I wanted to stop crying, their hands always soft and warm.
I'm not alone -- it's easy to forget that, 2am and pressed up against the wrong people -- but sometimes it takes the little things -- cotton wool against your eyelids, a light touch, kind words -- to remind you.
I was falling apart until they put me back together again -- the cool tiles of the bathroom, my dress damp from the shower, soft voices pattering around me. Here they refer to themselves as Natasha, Maria, and Cherry -- but at heart their names come with the gentle lilt of the Chinese language, a part of themselves quietly hidden away in this land so far from home. When they wiped the makeup and tears off my face they did so gently, carefully, like I was something fragile worth caring for. They whispered in Mandarin, laughed with me when I wanted to stop crying, their hands always soft and warm.
I'm not alone -- it's easy to forget that, 2am and pressed up against the wrong people -- but sometimes it takes the little things -- cotton wool against your eyelids, a light touch, kind words -- to remind you.