Love and In Drunk

I’ve had a lot to drink. Mostly white wine that tasted like apple juice. We hold hands while we’re walking. You say my hand is cold, and this is to warm it up. 

No other reason.

Something inside me decides this is the perfect time to describe every one of my childhood field trips in great depth (it is interesting to only me that it rained on all of them). We then go through all the other important childhood trauma, such as the time I sat on a wasp's nest and when I was bit by a squirrel. This is “losing all inhibitions” to me: saying every one of my thoughts, and the freedom to hold your hand. 

Not one of my thoughts is that I love you, so it’s never said aloud.

But that is because it never has to be said or thought at all. 

We walk around the city until I’m sleepy and run out of words, which takes until 4am. 

You love me too.