sour grapes

Have you ever eaten those dark, violet grapes? If you have, you would notice they are usually very sour, and if you are patient enough, you’d come across that one sweet grape which tastes like heaven. So sweet, you’d go through hell all over again just to taste it one more time.

That was the color of the dress she wore that day. If she wasn’t the embodiment of those violet grapes, I don’t know what was. One more thing I knew? She was drunk.

It wasn’t that hard to figure it out, really. First hint was when I saw her lying on the couch, giggling. For those who don’t know Sierra, she never giggled. Didn’t even ever smile really. The beautiful features of her face were always etched with a deep set frown, like she was annoyed, disappointed with how the entire human spectrum turned out. Maybe I was too used to her upset, that the melodious voice of her giggle caught me off guard.

The second was when she called for me. Being just a friend, I usually ended up at the receiving end of her anger. Didn’t quite reach up to the level of affection. Always let my emotions come in front of me and disappoint her.

“Yes, Sierra?”

She repeated my name, her eyes droopy and her hand slowly reached my collar, and pulled me towards her. I knew where this was going and my heartbeat quickened. She said my name, for the third time and her forehead touched mine. My head felt dizzy when I realized how close her lips were to mine. I closed my eyes.

I pulled away.

Her eyes swarmed with so many realizations that it was anfractuous, it tore me apart. No, maybe I just imagined that she would care that much. This would be one of the million times I disappointed her, but I wouldn’t take advantage of her when she wasn’t so aware.

I couldn’t.



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