You tell me that if I loved you, I would drink from the cocktail that I myself bought for you.

I would down it in one go if that would prove how much I adore you.

You place the cold glass in between my palms, my fingers numbing a little.

I take a sip, and the alcohol collides with my tastebuds like an iceberg but warms me on its way down my throat and into my stomach.

I am confused if it really is the delicious concontion, or if it is how you make me feel warmth, so radiant, that it engulfs me from the inside out.

I wipe the corner of my mouth with my wrist.

We smile at each other, and I wonder if you could tell by the way I look at you, that when I swallowed such poison you told me to take, all my mind could fathom was "because I love you."

But I am not that selfish.

I hand to you the rest, knowing that you have yet a thirst that neither I, nor this cocktail, may be able to quench.