Wine

Glasses that have to be just perfect for the drink they contain.
A plaintive voice asking

Don’t you serve wine in wine glasses?

accompanied by a distressed-disgusted look.
Non-plussed over why it is such a big deal. Amused.
Thoughtful…I can’t bear to sit on a bed that has anything on it…clothes, books, bags, phone..even messy sheets.
Deciding points…I could appreciative the quirk of finickiness more than I could appreciate messiness.

Realising I’m slurring…and oh, swaying a bit when I walk…and the trademark chuckle that in different situations conveys amusement, detachment, boredom and deep thought. And some anecdotes about cork–screws and parties.

I took this photograph in his kitchen while he was busy blogging. I stumbled around in semi-darkness and when I turned the corner, I stopped. The moonlight was shining in through the open windows. I put the glasses down on the floor and tried a shot, but all I got was some dusty blackness. I finally switched on the tubelight and shot this photograph. My camera doesn’t see the things my eyes do.

Thank God, if there is a God, for my eyes that captured a magical moment then. Of course I can’t ever share that memory…only re-create a poor description in words. But considering my penchant for privacy, that’s not a bad thing. It is a moment that touched me and I hold it close to me, in a secret place in my mind, to be retrieved and pored over, at will…and no one ever need know. Not even the person who gave me that moment.

A lifetime of relationships ranging from bitter chocolate to arsenic I said.
This one was wine.