Nothing Left To Say

Love You When I'm Drunk

(Mika) Love You When I’m Drunk // The Origin of Love

I only love you when I’m drunk.

And when I am, it clouds my vision, and I’m left stumbling metaphorically and physically around a room with walls that won’t stop moving. We’re at a Halloween party, and you’re talking to a pretty girl with auburn, waterfall hair and green eyes; I’m sitting on the floor, cross-legged next to a boy dressed like a banana who’s much older than I am. His face is deeply tanned, and I tilt my head to the side to observe the way the cheap strobe lights flicker across the curve of his cheek. He hands me a bottle of wine, or something like it, and it tastes like shit but I swallow it anyway. “You’re gorgeous,” he tells me. I think he means it, but he’s drunk too, and he’s dressed like a fruit. Credibility is questionable. Does he love me like I love you?

A few hours later, the party is winding down. I almost fall asleep on your shoulder. My best friend is sitting on the floor, stuffing bread into her mouth and making a great show out of complaining how disgusting it tastes. I’m glad she’s here with me. You ruffle my hair and tell me to close my eyes. I wish you’d kiss me, but I know you won’t, because I’m seventeen and you’re twenty-something and wearing zombie make-up that would probably taste awful anyways. I want to tell you I love you. In that moment, I really do. You smell like cheap beer and vodka. I can’t see straight anymore.

I only love you when I’m drunk, but I wish I could be drunk forever. Because when I wake up, I won’t be able to hold onto this feeling, and you’ll become nothing more than the zombie from that party, who let me fall asleep on his shoulder at four in the morning. 

I reach for the bottle of rum on the ground. Maybe if I drink enough, I won’t remember you at all.