You tell me you only drink white wine because it doesn't leave any stains when it slips from your lips and drips onto your white pants. And you always wear white pants when you drink wine, yet you only drink wine when you're feeling lost. But how could you feel lost when I am here holding your hand trying to lead you through the fog. The light at the top of the lighthouse is so bright and beautiful I do not know how you fail to see it. It is flashing your name in morse code but instead you are sat on the basement floor your head resting against the edge of the couch and the wine keeps slipping but there's nothing to show for it.
You keep drinking.
Later in the night just as I am falling asleep you sloppily laugh, monotone and quiet, look at me and slur
"I love you because when you leave there will be nothing to show for it, you will not stain me red."
And then you pass out on the floor, empty bottle rolling under the couch. It is silent except for your snores and my breath.
I try to tell myself you were drunk but the truth has a way of slipping out when you can't even keep the drink in and I wonder if that's just another way to say the only one in love is me.