You make beautiful cocktail. The cranberry juice resembles red wine more than the Real juice. The apples, both green and red, sleeving the glass, look emeralds in the bookeh lights. The dicing of lemons, with half a centimetre radii makes garnishing just a little more perfect than we'd expect. The most interesting is the way you put smirnoff into it. The drink looks regal, you know, more like sangria.

My year has been this cocktail. With you, it seemed sangria though. Together, we giggled through merriest days. Clouded, our eyes shared deepest tears, with none trying to stop the sobbing. The talks, fears, dreams and cheer decorated our union in a way no intimacy could ever do.
On the new year's eve, when we'll be lounging in our respective comforters, watching episode of Black Mirror, you in your iPad, while I on my TV; we won't be thinking how people are dancing on EDM somewhere in cyber hub. We'll instead, count how many times you've cried on tunes of alcohol. Or how many times I felt asleep on your shoulder because of the alcohol.
Only to intoxicate our new year even better.

This year has been a melange we'd wish to be hungover for. Don't we?

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