Today I remembered my first love (and some other obsessions), after finding our old vase.
When I was young, I wrote this parable about an alien loving pineapples. Only very specific ones, however. His human partner would not like how they would ferment, and they couldn’t speak the same tongue. I guess nothing makes sense when you are in love, and little more matters when you are drunk on it.
The days that followed I went swimming so often. Sometimes it felt like waves of lavender bringing sleep, more often though it was tides of gin & tonic drowning it.
There were always tears at the end, burning my cheek and salting my glass. But there is no end.