December, on the rocks.

If I could make a drink, I think that's what I'd call it. A white month full of warmth which hides beneath the chilly exterior brought about by the troublesome cubes which always seem to block you from that last drop you attempt to extract from the bottom of the glass. Fufillment is little more than a small glass away as the condensation on the edge of the glass begins to gather at the top and run haphazardly towards the insignificant napkin at the base of the glass as it sits uncaressed at the bar. Such a drink is better kept like the cola of a designated driver, there for looks as opposed to whetting ones thirst. The glass is but an image to make the person complete as they lean casually against the oaken chest high bar and tap their foot lazily to the beat of the music that echoes from the jukebox.

Sometimes, I think love is a little like being drunk. Its the kind of thing which comes with casual conversation and a bit of spare time. Its like a milky film washing over your vision and blurring reality as you know it, streaming everything into a staggered and warped tunnel vision. When you're in love you're 6 feet tall and bullet proof. When you're in love, every building is a small one if you look down from the top. When you're in love, you like the lights down low so the bright shine won't hurt your eyes. When you're in love, even the stupid things are funny and you're a little less embarassed. Love isn't like a cheap liquor or some every day beer, love is like fine wine. If you don't see the saying, I'll give it to you, "It gets better with age" and it gets better with time.

I'm a little bit of an alcoholic, and I'm loving every minute of it. Casually nursing my December as I chat quietly with my drinking buddy. Oh I wouldn't have it any other way.