Love, We’ll Meet When We’re Sober

It’s a weekend, past midnight, and I am sitting in the corner at my favorite bar. Groups of people all over the place. An acoustic band playing in the background. Ambiance set by colorful dimmed lights.

And here I am, on my table with a pitcher of martini and all the messy thoughts inside my head.

It’s yet another February without you, love.

I wonder where you could be.

Love, I can only think of all the maybe’s.

That maybe you are always in the wrong places, in a different time zone, in an alternate universe.

That maybe you are not ready yet. That you are still working on your heart. Or maybe it’s me who needs to have my heart prepared. Either way, maybe today is not just our season.

That maybe you are not who I expect you to be. That you could be more than what I wish for, the exact opposite of what I thought I needed.

Love, I can only imagine the possible moment we’ll bump into each other.

On the season of love. Where everything is about roses and butterflies. When my heart is full of hope and positivity. While I still feel love in the air I breathe and see it in every little thing around me.

On the summer. Where everything seems to be perfect. When I am on my best self. With the feel of warm breeze against my skin, the sweet sound of waves serenading my soul, and the perfect view of the sunset.

On the cold winter nights. Where everything feels like a blur. When I am on my PJ’s, crying myself to sleep, longing for something I can’t even point a finger on. And the only thing that is giving me warmth is my comforter.

On a Wednesday (or any day of the week). While I’m on my way to a grocery store. While I stroll at the park with my dog. With my oversized sweatshirt and my hair put up in a messy bun.

Love, your image is so clear in my perfectly blurred mind.

I am feeling a little light-headed now.

3am. And the pitcher of martini that serves as my company is almost empty now. The band is playing their last song to cap off the night.

So I composed myself and stood to leave. Still with my messy thoughts and all the I can only’s with you, love.

Just like the effect of martini in my system, I know everything will make sense when I’m sober.

This is just a phase. We’ll meet when we’re sober.

And all of this will make sense.