Alpha

A little wine, a little guilt - and the evening drags on, like that song they play ‘just in the background,’ but for some reason never turn off. Between words - distance, between glances - habit, between hearts - a little more than necessary. He seems unfaithful, but still loves her; she seems to forgive him, but not completely. Everything is like in life: feelings don't die, they just learn to wear a jacket more politely. Melancholy sounds lazy, as if the sea outside the window is whispering, ‘Come on, one last glass - and we'll forget.’