pagne

argh who knows the jeroboam effort it takes for me to ignore the champagne popping sounds (figurative, of course) flooding in that sound suspiciously like the word 'play' and what's worse! when i am asked to partake in its shiny, effervescent presence—the gentle high laced with a tinge of pity and veiled notes of sadness knowing that whilst reminiscent of all its vintage and vinified memories, the euphoria is bound for naught—like that unforgettable cuvée elisabeth salmon (have i ever mentioned how exquisite i think their logo design is) brut rosé's tippling finessé of bubbles that graced my palate one blissful champagne dinner night... yet the entire experience, the entire process, the entire almost self-indulgent, epicurean, and verily blessed moment has had itself deeply embedded into my heart, never again to be reproduced in exact similar fashion, just poorer refractions carefully trodden into sweet, sweet and sweeter memories. and now that i've tasted even sweeter fellowship— surely, surely. i'll miss you all even more deeply so.

o for our Good Lord to garrison us in this lane we walk seemingly in different ones —but united in Him.