That first tear rolled down like a drop of wine along the neck of the bottle, completely out of place. I wanted to be the cocktail napkin to your alcoholic mishap, to clean up a mess so carelessly made. Instead, I just sat there and did what anyone else would do. I’ll need stitches for how hard I bit my tongue and maintained the decency of the third party. I want you to know that I wanted to fix you, to heal wounds and wipe out the damage, but who am I to play the hero? Barriers are in place. I was stupid to think they were gone to begin with. Four or five years from now, you’ll realize this is about you and laugh at me. I’m starting to like when that happens.
