Dear last sip of beer,
I just want you to know that you’re driving me crazy. You’re really teasing me with the satisfaction you give as I drift out on the wind of mild intoxication. And yet you also give me a sense of loss, like I’ve just parted ways with a dear friend.
You’re so satisfying, despite your questionable proportion of my own saliva. You give me a feeling of accomplishment, as though of all the things I could do today, finishing this beer is the best one. And you taste so damn good.
Yet you disappoint me. Because of you, I have to get up and walk to the fridge and get another beer. And that’s just not cool.
You also can’t seem to leave without a parting remark. Daring to tell me that I can’t have any others besides you. Berating me for loving other last sips of beer before you. You’re a little abusive, you know that?
But still, as I embrace you, I feel the pleasure of your warmth sliding down my throat, the utter weightlessness of the glass that held you, the fleeting passion as you wave goodbye.
I’ll never forget you. I’m sorry. I love you.
Rachel Wayne is a writer and artist based in Orlando, FL. She earned her master’s in visual anthropology from the University of Florida and runs the production company DreamQuilt. She is an avid aerial dancer and performance artist, and also dabbles in mixed-media. She writes nonfiction stories about herself and other awesome people, as well as essays on feminism, societal violence, mental health, politics, entrepreneurship, and whatever cultural topic strikes her fancy.
