Some years from now on, she will pour 15-year-old rosé stored in a book cabinet, in a sparkling glass with golden rim. She will sit down to write and open the scene with the most exquisite lines. She will play that scene in her mind almost for the thousandth time before settling down on one and attending its intricate details.
In the quiet of the night, she will almost hear her heart thumping loud. For once, she will inhale deeply and release a sigh with her utmost conscious and continue crafting her delicate sentences transcending into something untouched with celestial realism.
How did she get this far?
She will question herself and guzzle down the resting rosè from the glass at once. She will then realise that for this acute regret her usual rosè will not cut off the dissatisfaction. She will want something more, something heartfelt yet abstract, perhaps bourbon. She will look at the aesthetically beautiful sparkling glass and the dregs of the pale rosy liquid will remind her of life: everything that once was... but is now consumed.
***
In the quiet of the night, she will almost hear her heart thumping loud. For once, she will inhale deeply and release a sigh with her utmost conscious and continue crafting her delicate sentences transcending into something untouched with celestial realism.
How did she get this far?
She will question herself and guzzle down the resting rosè from the glass at once. She will then realise that for this acute regret her usual rosè will not cut off the dissatisfaction. She will want something more, something heartfelt yet abstract, perhaps bourbon. She will look at the aesthetically beautiful sparkling glass and the dregs of the pale rosy liquid will remind her of life: everything that once was... but is now consumed.
***