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January 31, 2022.

I remember you in a cup of water, of tea, of alcohol. Your movements slow, your cocky grin making the blood under my skin run faster. Your stupid bright smile making my stomach knot and your laughter making me move following your rhythm. You crawl through my window, slow-dancing in the middle of my room. You tempt me slowly but surely, you morph into something else that I barely recognize. For a second I feel like we understand each other, that we are alike and that we look for the same things. But, like I said, I do not know you anymore. Who is that behind teal-colored windows? Who is that behind wooden-like curtains? I breathe what you exhale and it makes me yearn for more. I cry out loud for more of you even though I have never had you. I do not question your methods anymore, I accept them blindly and deafly. I drink you whole, taste you whole and swallow you whole. I do not vomit you whole because I always try to keep a little bit of you inside of me. I do not miss you whole, I just miss what my head has made out of you and what has convinced me to look at when I see you. I do not know you and you do not know me but I have something of you inside me and I can not let go of it. I do not want to let go of it. Otherwise, I will not remember you in a cup of water, of tea, neither of alcohol.

Reviews

[Veronica Staehle]

I like the details of your memories coming out a bit incompletely, yet they complete the sentiment of your not letting go all while never fully getting a full grasp.

You depict scenes of excitement and mystery that I really enjoyed reading too. An enigma that we never quite get to keep except in our chosen methods. Drinking it up over here!