I take a sip from the bottle. the tannic taste of the washington merlot has a slight warming sensation to my throat. in the state I'm in it's good to know I can still feel. I'm lost. I'm vulnerable. I still can't believe she is gone, ...is she? The wine hits my stomach now and those eyes return to my mind, watching. Big, Blue, haunting, I feel like I'm stand at the foot of my Great Gatsby. it all weighs heavy, a large pull from the bottle does nothing to reduce the weight but I allow myself to enjoy the juice anyway.
new lyrics in my head work to remind me, "yesterday's gone... yesterday's gone... oooh don't you look back"
half a bottle gone or half a bottle to go, the task I've chosen to keep my mind busy is all about perspective. I put the bottle down to grab my pen. the notebook before me is filling quicker then I can drain the bottle next to me. If it is all about those eyes, then all I can do is write, this story needs a better ending. I will not except a tragedy, the world is full of to many right now. "i wanna get next to you." spins through my mind now, so I write, write and write till my hand is sore, the bottle dry and my aching heart goes numb,... for now
spent I close my eyes relaxing into the next tune... "aint no woman like the one I got"
tapping my foot all I have left is a belief in what I "got"... drifting into the moment, "I'll kiss the ground she walks on" is exactly how I feel.