Pretending

I bring my wine glass to my lips, letting the bouquet of it introduce itself to my sense of smell, letting the bright, yellow flavour dance across my tongue. I wish I was dancing now, bare feet resting on top of his, sunlight kissing our necks as we swirl around our apartment laughing until we lean against the barn board accent wall.
I love barn board accent walls.
With my head tilted up to the ceiling I can almost forget that I’m alone, sitting on my ass drinking cheap wine. I’m not dancing with him or leaning against a charmingly decorated wall. I’m sitting in my bed covered by a powdered blue comforter that displays bushels of hydrangeas.
I hate hydrangeas.

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