This is my muse on sake...

My muse is sitting upon my keyboard this evening. And in my introspective state of mind I have written some poetry. Though I think my muse may have had a bit too much sake tonight. It was warm and delicious but my prose is rambling, bitter, and disillusioned. Much like the love life by which it was inspired. Or should I say lack there of. Though that is arguable as I discussed that there are many types of love. Many of which I undoubtedly possess without second thought. And when does one type of love truly become another. Where is the line between my love of him as a friend and my love of him as a lover, partner. And in the existence of so many types of love lies the sparkling hope of a new love that I have overlooked. One that is not tarnished by past abuses. One that is different and glorious and real. Surely the lack of proof for such does not rule out the possibility of its reality. Moreso I have no proof against it. Thus in my drunken rambling I manage to assure myself that I am not as bitter as I thought. I simply do not yet posess the route by which to bypass the bitter lack of hope and disillusionment towards intimacy, trust, and love that I currently am experiencing.

Or some such reassuringly philosophical bullshit.
Fuzzy sake-fied love huggles!