The orb of the moon shone too bright into her window. The breeze was too loud; the tick of her clock too irritating. She sat up in bed.
If you keep losing sleep over other lovers.
Throwing back her covers, she stumbled out of bed and chucked on a loose t-shirt and shorts. Opening her cupboard, she pulled out a half finished bottle of vodka. Such seductive silent wine. She took a swig and sat down against the edge of her bookcase with a thud. A sigh escaped her. You’re a tombstone in the mud.
“What’s so wrong with me?” she whispered to herself in between sips of the strong alcohol. She threw the bottle, still full, against her wall and it shattered, spilling its contents in a dripping mural.
On an impulse, she threw on a jacket and crept outside. The cold was sobering but she pressed on; the grass like needles in her feet. She hoped he would be there. Erase my regret from the start. As she rounded the corner, she noticed him, perched on the bench where they had first met.
Silently, she joined him.