You could say that some people are a diverse beverage of preferences; some are mixed, some are stirred, and others are even shaken.
Your dad’s anger reminds you of a mixed coke and rum, but his passion reminds you of a tequila mixed nightmare with a Yeager bomb cherry on top. The way his words flow towards you makes you wonder if you can engulf the sea or if it burns like whiskey.
Your mother is an ashtray flip away from going under and the pain you feel reminds you of the time you drank one too many drinks and ended spinning in your dreams.
You covered your weakness with every drop of the bottle and coating of the lung. Then it hit you like an epiphany, as if you were drunk off of fine wine .
May the glass be so divine that in a glance of given time, you would try to rewind and read between the lines. In a mixture of compromise with not only others’ time, but to the existence of yourself.
You take a sip of the cider and lean with a tilt, maybe you’re even filled with a little guilt. For this is the time you are reminded of the quarrel you and your father had after you had too much brandy and he had too much of your sorrow, he threw the bottle while you were only hoping for another tomorrow.