nihilism makes wine taste better

Katie awoke from a dream. It was a nice dream about nice things. She didn’t want to be awake, she wanted to stay there. There, the world wasn’t a cold blue colour. The world was always bright, even when it wasn’t. Maybe the dream was nice because it wasn’t so real. Like watching a movie or reading a novel; the heaviness of gravity didn’t limit her bones and blood and skin from being sky-bound. She could use portals and light waves to see people she couldn’t in her world. People who won’t speak to her…or people who have died. Katie was uncomfortable in the real world. Her skin didn’t feel like her skin. Her blood belonged to her parents and their parents and their lineages. Her bones always cracked and ached. She was aging. She gained weight easily now. Or she craved more bad foods. Or she didn’t work out nearly enough. Or she just stopped caring.

Either way, the taste of wine has never been so satisfying – its sweetness reminding Katie that she would soon forget the perils of time; the flow of uncontrollable moments that may or may not benefit her. And with enough sips she would be asleep again. Dreaming of a world far away from her own.

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