I miss her. It's always hard to write about her because of who she is and how I feel about her, but it's especially hard tonight. My heart is heavy with her wine, and it isn't in the talking mood.
She means more to me than I know how to write, more than I may ever know how to write, and her ache spills over my heart's mountains and suspends between it's trees.
Tonight, I'm just me drunk with her.
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