vodka thursdays

“Oh, how she loved to play with words.” I scoffed, and the bartender passed me another shot.
It was a lonely Thursday night, and his ears were open as long as I remained coherent enough to pay him for the shitty Vodka I kept downing.
“She loved to play with words, she was a sorceress with her tongue, and I was gone the minute she first spoke to me. I loved her quotes and couplets and stories, and she loved to recite them to me, but most of all I loved her ridiculous, over-the-top hyperboles that she would randomly drop in the dullest of conversations to spice it up.
"How was your hike?” I would ask and she would reply with something hilarious like
“Like getting ass-fucked during an earthquake” or whatever. It made life interesting. We were an interesting fucking couple.“
I downed another shot. My old friend, the bartender, stood attentively with pity in his eyes- he knew what to expect: a heartbreak story of a twenty-something young man with bags under his eyes and on his 12th shot of vodka, words spilling out about A Girl.
”…and then she would say, in the middle of the night, she would say- she would whisper in my hear…
“I love you like the stars love to shine”
“I love you with all the force of the waves”
“I love you like a marathon runner is insane”
and I, stupid fucking prick that I am, believed her. I must have been drunk on her words because fuck, that’s the only explanation because here I am, a fucking English major, believing a girl’s hyperboles when friggin middle schoolers know that a hyperbole is an exaggerated statement.
A truth modified to a point that it’s not a truth any more.
A claim not meant to be taken literally.
A statement
too ridiculous
to be true.“
—  Conversations with my best friends- this shitty vodka and the bartender that lets me bitch, an excerpt from a book I’ll never write #3