The sun is widely stretched across the sky like her heart once was across her sleeve. Her lips touch the edge of the coffee mug, her fingers gripping onto the hot piece of ceramics as her dark eyes flicker over the full shot glass on the table in front of her.

/

You were never the one to drink. But after him, you could drown a bottle of wine just to sober up from the intense memories of his touch across your skin.

You carefully eye the inviting liquid, already feeling the burn in your throat. You shouldn't have known that burn. You shouldn't have reached out for the drink, but you did.

You hesitantly place the mug on the table, looking at it. You cannot get the taste of coffee out of your mouth, not even when you wash it town with the shot that is now only an empty glass. The tastes of caffeine and alcohol mix in your mouth, and though it is a familiar aftertaste it reminds you of one person. Of him, who you cannot detach from your already numbed senses.

So you reach out for another glass, stopping yourself halfway in drowning it. You are better than cheap wine, but you don't think so. You are better than bitter aftertastes, but you do not think of drinking sweet tea.

So you sit on the kitchen counter, your bare feet cold from the carpet-less tiles. The see-through bottle holds a honey gold liquid, and you do not hesitate to try it. You hate drinking.

Your reflection in the window does not startle you, even though you avoid looking at mirrors. Your hair is all over the place, the uneven cut suiting your look.

You cut your hair short because he liked it long.

Your tired eyes show nothing but emptiness, the glimmer that was once there now nothing but a sad gleam that he mercilessly ripped from you. The linen shirt he left behind is thrown over the chair. You did not touch it since he last left it there.

The pajama pants and undershirt you once bought for him, but never gave him, do not do you justice in keeping you warm. They are too big for you, but you do not mind.

There is only one person on your mind, and you curse him, and you curse love. You curse every single thing that pisses you off, including the lady across the street that will just not stop mowing her lawn, and the beeping answering machine from all the voice-mails you refuse to listen to since the only voice you want to hear is the one you love and hate at the same time, and you are not sure why and how that is.

You don't know what to do. You ask yourself weather this is something people usually do, break hearts, and then return to cleaning their bathrooms or something?

You cannot help but wonder what is it that you are doing, but before you can list reasons to hate him- even though the goddamn thing one calls a heart is protesting- you are at his door.

He is just down the hall from you, and you just stand there, not knocking, like you already did a few times. You stare at the wooden surface, and the lady on the floor above passes by, giving you a sad look, wondering how one boy can destroy you.

Before you have time to tell him why you hate him, he opens the door, and suddenly you forget everything you could ever say. He is not drunk. You are not completely, but enough to do something you wouldn't if you were sober.