When the day has fallen asleep, the sun rests and let the night take over, awake in the dark, people will march in here like a bunch of blood-thirsted vampires. In this place, the lights are always dimmed; it is never been bright, as if eyes are not meant to see traces of abstract arches drawn on the ceiling. The floor is often slippery and full of heavy steps. It is loud, so loud screams sound like whispers and whispers are as golden as silence. The music wraps everyone in rhythm, warmth and present. Here, nobody needs to listen, just a mind to forget. This is the place where people run away to. For some, this is their sanctuary. Anything, everything, can happen here – the opposites emotions devour like collision between two seas with different densities, while I stand at the back, waiting to be served.
Here, love can grow and end, hope and regret breathing down each other’s neck. Sincerest confession and arguments slurring like river in a church, a place where sometimes nobody can tell the difference between love and lust. Nonetheless, they do not care. Everyone here is present, to their bodily self; not necessarily to forget, but just to be here, not to be alone. They are looking for the a case of me – preserved happiness in a form of liquid in a bottle pour into thin shaped glass, and sometimes spilled over a friend or on the bar that soon wiped, just like those tears on her pink blushed cheek as her heart just got broken, so I have heard.
With the help of the hero of the night behind the bar, serving, mixing the best of me; I would dance in their hands swing me into the air and pour me elegantly, almost perfect. In their hands, I am safe. People would grow the best sense of honesty through every pour of me. I can be sweet, bitter and sometimes I would burn like flames down their throat. But then again, they don’t mind as long as they get their salvation. In the morning, they will blame me for the mistakes, regrets, heavy-head that risen up along with the sunshine. And some will thank me, for giving them the confidence they are longing to seek. Of course, all of those reigned after they had consumed me, like love that slowly, gradually take some part of me, until I am running out of myself, empty. And their momentary happiness, lightness and laughter will be the death of me.
A piece by : Fiya Muiz