You laughed at my claims,
I smashed the glass in your face.
And without turning my back I walked from that place.
This is not vodka. This is gin.
I said it softly, my head in one hand
As I sat at the bar drawing ghosts
On her dirty, scattered twenty-dollar notes.
This is not vodka. This is... gin?
I doubted myself as I did your intentions.
I believed the best, as I always do.
The worst in me, the very best in you.
Those were my last words as I stumbled home.
I wished I hadn’t shouted what I needed to simply say.
I wish I could believe I will see you again someday.
Do not dare turn your back on me as I try to tell you that I love you!
Do not dare doubt that I feel the way I say I do.
You never believed me, but that’s not a sin.
I wouldn’t either.
It was vodka, not gin.