On this bar stool I sit staring down the empty bottle in front of me.
The Jazz music is fading out, and the intoxicated people slurring for another drink is getting old.
If it was a different night, and I wasn't by myself it'd be a different atmosphere completely.
The drunks would be funny, and the music would move my feet.
But it's otherwise tonight, because I'm watching the drops of water fall down the edge of my drink.
I've only had one but it's enough for me to feel tipsy.
To the point you'd be here laughing at me.
Only because you swear I'm the only lightweight you know.
This bar holds so much more then I'd ever realized.
There's fragments of us all around this place.
The girl beside me trying to draw me into a night with her.
In my head it doesn't sound so bad, but I can't say anything.
I'd like to apologize but I'm so focused on the circle of water at the bottom of this bottle.
She'll leave eventually.
As she finally gets annoyed the door opens.
The bar attendant welcomes them, but it's all becoming a fuzzy mess.
There's a touch on my shoulder but it's not the same feeling as it should be.
As I turn to see you. I'd realized how much of a problem I have.
You smile at me but it doesn't meet your eyes.
Those blue translucent eyes that are of so lonely.
They're the color of water, and I'm afraid of drowning in them.
Only because I can't swim.
You sit beside me, and push away my drink and get me something different with a no alcohol.
But you get yourself something intoxicating and tell me that I need to let go of the addiction.
Oh god how those words hit.
Because I'd never realized that it wasn't the drink that intoxicated me.
But it was yourself that did; it was all the memories, all we'd been through together.
So finally I set down your drink, and I get up to walk away.
From this bar stool where all these memories haunted me.