Wine trickling down my throat, like…Gods, I've forgotten the words…I don't even like it, not really. It doesn't mean anything. He thinks it does, thinks it defines me. I pray it isn't, and try to show….But, "One more glass, R?" or "Come, there's just a little left in mine" and it's over. A never ending torrent of red, sealing my fate. I'm melodramatic now, unintentionally. So I glance up, hazily, trying to forget. He's watching me. I don't know why. Why would he? I pause, straining to catch hold of the thoughts, losing them faster and faster in the ever-reddening mist. I wish…I try…to shake it off, but it only laughs, embracing me tighter, pulling me away from him. He sees this departure, a half-snarl twisting his grace, his…words again…his lies. An expression. A reaction. What more could I want? What more, indeed…That's more than I've gotten in (shock) a week, I think. I'm not sure anymore. Damn, everything is so difficult, but this is all he sees, damn him, doesn't he know that I'm trying!
Silence
That was out loud. Roared, almost. A shrug, a cockeyed smile, and it's forgotten. They move on, leaving me in my eternal desert, deeper into the wine. Soon I'll be gone, so gradually, they won't even know.
He has not forgotten. I know that much. No. And so, I can't forget. He binds me to the world, forcing me back with sheer scorn, watching me over the lifeless plains of my existence.
The wine is displeased.
He is displeased.
Between the two of them, I shudder. The wine is easier…