The vodka took my breath away, the way you used to when you would wrap one arm around my waist and brush my hair out of my face and kiss me so deeply like you may never kiss me again
The vodka burnt my throat, stinging through the lump I feel every time I see you with her, looking at her the way you never looked at me, promising her the world in your eyes that used to shine into mine.
The vodka made me sick, the type of nausea I felt when you took her in your arms and kissed her across the table from me, not noticing my heart breaking into a thousand pieces and shattering on the wooden deck.
The vodka made me fall, I tipped over gently and landed sitting up, not the way that I fell when you told me that you were choosing her, when I landed on my knees bent over, clutching my chest like maybe my hands could keep my heart from splintering and bursting out of my chest.
But they couldn’t.