mike130516

Let me start with this. I don’t much trust the confessions of sober people. Being a very good liar myself, I find it odd that other people should not also be.

That being said, words spoken after 2 a.m., or while being drunk, or in general under the influence of something, tend to be more sincere. It could be that we live in societies where being frank and upfront in our interactions with other people is a sign of  weakness (supposedly), and who has time for meaningful things nowadays? Right?

Right…?

Well, I do have time, so grab a drink and let’s do it as everyone who matters to someone should.

I don’t expect us to relax with the first few glasses. But we’ll talk. It could be a restaurant, it could be really formal.

Or not.

Or it could be a colorful couch with some music (perhaps The Doors?) playing in the background, just us; let the whole world spinning outside our special place and that moment.

And I see you got thirsty, and oh boy, this bottle seems already half empty, glad we got some more!

And you’ll talk. I’ll listen to your fears, your desires, and I so much promise I won’t interrupt, despite my urge to. It will be probably fun, some things might slip that we haven’t said before, and we’ll keep wondering with ourselves, is it us, is it the wine, is it that we feel closer to each other?

And I firmly believe magical things will happen to us around the third glass, right when the first bottle will be over. Inhibitions tend to disappear around then, and we’re not kids; or perhaps we are in our own clumsy childish way some sort of adults, because really, this feels amazing.

I will believe it twice when you tell that you love me then. Not because I don’t believe you anyway, but perhaps because it takes courage to say everything you think when you can’t quite control yourself.

Whoever claims it is easier to talk while sober, that we are more coherent, that our words mean more, then certainly does not understand how alcohol works. How it brings down walls, how it demolishes the ego and simultaneously magnifies and diminishes all kinds of fears.

For some reason writing about it makes the whole experience more real. To write this article I remained sleepless and I was quite tipsy. And you know what I thought about the most? What thought was crossing my mind over and over, magnificent in its simplicity and terrifying for that exact same reason.

You and me, on our second bottle of wine, and just a bit before we go to bed, just a tiny whisper, like those confessions we made as kids to the person we fancied.

A small phrase.

Which could sound stupid, but is not. One that if you mean it it never wears out.

“I love you.”

Author: Michael Poe

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