My breath tastes like cherries.
My breath tastes like cherries because I drank two whirley Shirley Temples (and some champagne, too).
I can feel my heart fluttering against my cheeks. I am listening to the chatter of the house, music, and laughter. The sound is giving me a hug... I feel loved by music. Blah blah. Who knws how this will read when I am sober. The words on the screen look thin and brittle and breakable and jagged and jarring. Where am I?
I am, here.
I am here and my breathe tastes like cherries. I feel like a cherry, so pulpy and pressed outwards against a rosy surface. I just went deaf in one ear.
I feel illuminated, flickering... like a candle in a pumpkin. I'm laughing. I just said 'a candle in a pumpkin.' it's getting too hard to type.
And so I...
say goodbye and good night.