I remember my first sip. I was 18. I wanted to be one of the cool kids who drank. I graduated high school not having a sip of anything controversial. In fact, the morning I joked with my mom I had "beer of the root" the night before at a bad boy's house, was the morning I first cried tears because I was laughing so hard- my mother neither understood, nor appreciated, my excellent joke. 4 years of pent up aggression to see what the rich kids were partaking in nightly, the poor but beautiful kids were allowed to witness ever so often, or the circles those stellar one meant for bright future were invited into and molded to be "one of them"... I watched with yearning all those years as they sipped away at their parties the imbibements of achievement; if you were one of them, it meant something.

So here I was at a fraternity house, sipping away not just at my first beer (god's elixir known as Natural Light), but staring intently, and with hesitation, at the most beautiful figure draped in gentle paper, with a luscious red swirling away ever so often... She was immaculate to look at but I could almost taste the sharp crispness of her heart as she poured herself out of her mouth. I walked, nay, stumbled forward to have a go. And with an outstretched arm, I asked her name. Someone piped up before she could introduce herself to me, and said "Merlot. You'll like it."

I nodded my head. A slew of frat brothers with their sorority sisters trotting nearby gave me a glass of a bloody good time. And I was bewitched. My first sip. As the liquid sloshed around in my mouth like a haphazard dancer, I gulped down serving after serving of her. Onlookers looked at me in amusement, before someone sensible stopped me in my overzealously amateur tristes to tell me to slow down. Enjoy it. Recall how every sip of her feels. Take note of the memories I form in the moment, while living in it. Note how her curves etch themselves in my body, how she drags her lips across my face and tongue, how bitter it feels once she leaves. I was told to savor, not consume. Treat, and not be treated. Satiate her, not satisfy myself.

I wish I listened then. Oh, how I wish I listened then. What followed was a decade of decadence. Indulging in wines all over. Some for years at a time. Inconsistently trying to quit my obsession, but unable to go clean. I loved wine. Loved it. But it was an unhealthy dance I called upon every time a glass was in my hand. The guilt of drinking could never replace the cooling breeze and gentle reassurance on my shoulder when she found her way into my body. Wine gave me life, even when being alive was the last thing I wanted to be, and had the strength to do. I worshipped wine, because her divine grace gave my soul a reason to shine. However dull the spark, wine gave it to me. Whether it was the deep blood-tinged liquid, or her celestially golden cousin, or the spunky pinks and oranges, wine gave me both a breath of life, and moments that took my breath away.

On cold winter nights, I would year for it. On hot summer days, I would stare at every flight at every winery, in every cup, hoping to taste it all. But as the decade drew on, every indulgence took on less meaning. My soul began to feel empty. I chased the null, the numbness, the courage to march forward to the next sensation. And never a singular bottle that entranced me. Outsiders' opinions, societal expectations, scholarly demands, and my own shame... they all buckled me into a pretzel. I became a recluse that relied on wine to make me feel relieved. Never alive. And that is how the past ten years have gone. Desensitized to the very elixir that once gave me the bifocals to see a beautiful dream and reality, all at once.

But the last year, that was when the winter was at it's coldest. Not a sip was had as I craved you over and over again. Each night growing darker than the last. The wine. The allure of it. I sabotaged my lust for it and insisted my unconscious mind to let her go. There will come a day when wine will call for me again. And I shall answer only when ready, and willing. In my penance I recalled my vicious nature. My unsolemn appetite to consume, not caress. I learned to savor again by letting go of a 1,000 bottles to focus on 1. And there, after months of it, the skies finally partied to shed light on my meditation, and I emerged like a spring flower, ready to taste again.

Now, I wish to feel every part of you, my lovely wine. I wish to taste you all over. I wish to feel you inside my body as you dart heartily towards my soul again. I want you to fill me with your history and tease me gently with your love. I want you to lust for me, but walk, not sprint, towards that inevitable nirvana. Toy with me, playfully but with intent. Remind me of the man I was, before the rabid animal I became. Allow me to learn about you with the utmost sincerity. Capture my attention and teach me the ways of the world. Your time and mine are one. You and I are one. And in time, help me see again....the entire reason I pursued you to begin with.