Warmth

The cold breeze of the ocean in the middle of the night that bit into my skin clashed with the burning taste of liquor in my throat. It was a shot that was preceded by many others and was succeeded by countless more as we delved further into the night with words that meant nothing and everything to us left our mouths, only interjected by laughter here and there. The sea was quiet but slowly rising, pressing against the wall of the small trench and threatened to overflow.

The silence was uncomfortable, and when we neglected the large cottage that we rented to crowd inside a smaller one that was nearer to the sea, we avoided it. We were twenty-year olds damn it, we had the right to be loud and to be unsure, to taste everything and enjoy anything but the piercing, awkward silence. 

There was a little game of truth and dares, but the people who asked skirted around the important questions. No, it was much too early for that. It was much too early to confront the things we wanted to, to utter the words that begged to be said. We had no courage in our system and we reached for the liquor to feed us some, fallacious it may be. And in between the meteor shower and the gulps of tequila, mule, and gin that I took, I must've found it. 

Because the next thing I knew I was calling people with how I feel, bawling my eyes out. There were some that heard me out, some that told me they were busy, and some that were fearful because I sounded like I was saying goodbye. I wasn't. I never wanted to live and speak and feel as much as I did right then and there because I can finally have the strength to say what I have been feeling the past four months. 

It's amazing how much liquor can do for you. Maybe that's why adults turn to it as devouts turn to their god.