Red red wine

The other night I found myself longing for the softening effects of my old friend red wine in a way I haven't for months. Red wines had a particular type of soporific reality blurring that I preferred over my other friends; tequila and vodka. Quality didn't matter much; I never developed into an oenophile, or for that matter, an alcoholic (despite my diligent pursuit).

So as the afternoon wore on and a sweet sadness filled my spirit, I longed for the old familiar red wine haze. I had a glass or two, and found that it didn't perform as remembered. Instead, dishwashing drove the sadness away for a bit. It's back of course, and is destined to be present for some time to come.

It is what it is.

But I learned that you can't go home again. Not even to a lair in the Burgundy depths of a bottle.