Your whiskey and the moon

It is so ordered.

The way things go. The way you choose to wake up or go.

The way you turn tables, the way you breathe.

The way you live to the extreme or scream.

Such a funny, poorly twisted comedy with a protagonist looking behind the curtain. Holding whiskey, drawn to the deep red lights, searching for the moon and yet, the sun.

What is it? — she asked, reminding him to wake up from his thoughts before pouring the drink onto the floor.

He walked to the window with a glimpse of that moon and turned to her.

– Nothing. Just thinking.
– That’s not nothing, it’s everything. Or everybody, even more.
– Everybody, hah? — he smiled and became sure again that this woman is an eternal reminder to life. She is the strong sentence in an article that you almost deleted. The good closure in a speech that gives you chills. The one to see through the road, clearly navigating through the land of….well, anything, really.

She went on.

– The more I live, the more I believe that each and every thought was present at least at one other person’s mind. And that an idea can be equal to a man, a man to the idea.
– Giving such importance to living?
– But of course. What’s the point otherwise? The beauty of the end so close? Please… do not go that far. There’s plenty more to do and think now or the next minute. The end is always comforting after all. Not much of a surprise.
– My whisky and that moon outside is a surprise. Would you think they can be a nice couple? — he asked.
– One shines up there, one shines down here. Smooth and strong at the same time. The perfect balance, don’t you think?
– Both calm the soul, for sure.
– You see? We’re not that special, no. We like to tell ourselves that we are the master of the house. Thinking above all, being both amused and beautifully frightened of life. It’s not true — an illusion that can be broken by that alleged unusual pair: your whiskey and the moon. Breaks of that kind are precious.

Once again, he felt that emotion that was a common visitor in the house. Her presence was something created and ripped right off of a novel.

– What is it? — she asked once again that night.
– Nothing really, I was just thinking if anybody else has ever thought of you the way I did seconds ago.
– Well, as I said, by this time we all might be thinking the same.
– Which is?
– That I am just as much an idea as a person. By now it wouldn’t be a surprise to find that I am your whiskey or you’re moon up there. An idea to take care of… or a break to wake you up from the everyday illusion.
– Good.
– Is that so? — she asked.
– Yes. To me it means there’s a cure for life, no matter how you call it. A sip of whiskey, a glimpse of the moon or your voice in this room.

She just had to smile.

And he felt like they were in a full circle again. Like it was ordered.