Sitting on the kids tiny chair next to the oven, hidden by the island of my kitchen.
Between an empty bottle and a glass of melancholy
I realised that my spirit wasn’t in that bottle.

Instead a warmth rises through my body and bubbles near my eyes.

But I still feel the draft of this house in my back like a whoosh of the past through my spine.

Whilst wine is not my drink of choice
And nor is misery my favourite company
Theres nothing like the two together
To make you linger
On those. Harsh. Words. You heard today.
To make you revisit the realities of the day
To make you create a new story
If only you had it your way.

The wine is more forgiving whilst the heart is just haunting
The truths and the choices
And the directions you took.
The mind like a vessel, traveling
Back and forth. To and fro
That place you once knew
That place you wanted to go
How did you find yourself here
On a tiny chair
By a stove
Making another meal you’ve already had before.


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