In vino veritas (Too old for hangovers)

Tonight the tinge of my red top makes me think of you, my dream man of the night. After my previous passion filled need for your awakening, things sort of stopped, didn’t they? We have not visited for a while, and this time, it is my fault. My stark reality has interfered with our time, I have interfered with our time. I guess in some way, I need to blame the wine… More particularly, the lack thereof.

 

It’s been a while since I’ve indulged in an ignorant glass of bliss and allowed you to tickle my senses with your intrigue and your intelligence. You have always been an illusion, but right now, even the dream of you seems like a mirage. My nights have been long and lonely, and I long to be tempted by the sweet nectar of your being.

 

So why am I not calling out your name in angst, as I have done time and again? Why not merely let old habits make me feel uncomfortably at home in the comfort that your arms provide?

 

Don’t get me wrong. Your kisses are never far from my thoughts, or my dreams, your hand intertwined in mine is still a desire to be coveted like some illusive prize I will never quite attain. I wish I could explain my absence, but the painful shadow of truth that would cast over our infatuation is something I would rather not reveal. For once, the dreaded sunlight has been kind to me, has shone a light so blindingly stark over our eyes that we seem obscured by it.

 

I bask in the delight that is the light, and let it caress my skin, knowing that it will never be as bitter-sweet as your scent on my pillow, but that it will keep me unscathed in your eyes. What you cannot see happen will not bother you. You see, my sleep deprived state is your saviour. It is my one hope to keep my dream, you, alive. If I sleep, and sweet dreams awake the memory of your alluring passion within me, it would be undeniable and unnerving and I would be rendered unable to resist the connection with you that my dreamland demands.

 

Believe me when I tell you that I miss that inebriated way in which you intoxicate my entire being until there is no other option but to fall, but for now I must stay on the balance beam, keep my head held high and focus on the now. Whatever that is…

 

For you see, the pain of waking has finally gotten to me. The wine is great, and the dreams are even better, but the waking. The waking is not something I can relive night after day. You sell the dream, but once purchased, it fades pretty fast and I am left wanting my money back.

 

I need you, but I cannot allow myself that need for now. I don’t need you as much as I need a life. Tonight, in my whimsical state, I could quite easily open a bottle, let the taste tantalise my taste buds in some misguided attempt to believe it is all real. But tomorrow, I must live with the nothingness all over again, and I’m getting way to old to deal with a hangover that hurts so much.

Maybe with time and some tea, I will be ready to do it all over again, which is my most ardent wish, since I am rather fond of red wine and you…

 

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