Lipstick Stained Wine Glasses

When you came over that afternoon to finally end things, I invited you in, and we sat down on the couch. Both of us with tear-stained cheeks and dull red eyes. After very little small talk, you started to unload, and I stopped you, and said,

‘let’s have a drink, like we used too.’

But I was feeling spiteful, and more than a little drunk. So when I stalked into the kitchen, I could have reached for the cupboard; for the fresh glasses I had there. But instead I grabbed two dirty ones from the sink. And I served us our drinks.

Two wine-stained glasses, with the lipstick of the two other women still apparent on the rims.

Those glasses kind of did the talking for us. And you seemed relieved. And I was still angry. But at least we could enjoy our drinks in silence. Lit cigarettes inside, stagnating the room, the smoke obscuring our faces, not having to see the pain that was written on each of them.

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