After a half bottle of moscato, I settled into my re-tasting of old morsels of life. While I’m never that reticent, the almost cloying sweetness lining the rim of my glass kept provoking stories I had long stopped telling or forgotten to tell. 
They say liquid courage is all you need, but I think you need much more to write here. To not allow your voice to be squelched by too salty of a peanut gallery. To stand behind some of your most lurid confessions when your wings are clipped to bony fragments. 
We live in an escapist culture, but this a place where I contend and confront. Maybe it’s you today, or him, or her. But I have to remember that it’s always me I’m dealing with and the claustrophobic cells I’ve compartmentalized everything into.