A Beautiful Death

After a night of working the club, loud music, louder payrons, drunk altercations, happy accidents,  unfortunate spills and a couple of nice compliments you go home. Kick your shoes off as soon as you hit the door, drop your purse and let out a much deserve sigh of relief. The night is over.

As if they were on fire, you rip your clothes of not realizing you hadn't moved from the front door yet. Fling that bra across the hallway and walk into the  kitchen. Without thinking,  you turn on the lights some soft music. The faux chandelier reflects on the wall making the room feel a bit disco, pour a drink. Not that, "I just got home and whiskey will solve all my shit", kind of a drink, you pour a real drink. Manhattan. Maker's. Shaken. Twist of lemon. 2 ice cubes. Rocks glass.
Naked, you walk towards the bedroom to put on your handmade hand me down kimono your aunt gave you for times like these.

Walking around your living room making note of all your accomplishments, The award for this thing and that, pictures from holidays with family and friends, collection of music gifted from travels and that loveseat from college, nostalgia. So many memories. So many good times. You almost laugh to yourself reminiscing blunders and chance meetings. *Manhattan hits lips*
The fog of 99, the flood of 03, lost friends, lost family, disappointments, celebrations, births, weddings, moving again and again sometimes with help, change careers...life. The more the drinks speaks, you don't have to. The mind lingers where quiet use to be. *sips mahattan*
Curling your feet into said loveseat, not remembering you sat in the first place, flings robe over toes. The song begins to fade like an old record in the distance while your lids become heavy, your body flinches between sleep and memeory. Your hand let's go of the glass,  contents spill out. Your head rests softly. Goodnight, old friends.