Night air.

It is midnight and there's a storm howling outside my floor to ceiling windows as i sit here in my repulsively expensive underwear drinking wine i can't pronounce from my 27th floor condominium. It feels like the entire building is swaying with the wind but it could also just be my constant need of making things more dramatic than they are. However, it's a Thom Yorke kind of night and i've given my troubles the evening off. With the lights off, candles lit and the city skyline view empowering the moment, dancing alone dressed in lace in front of my victorian mirrors feels ridiculously perfect. Blowing kisses, fanning my hair from side to side and making dozy pretend pouts and poses for my imaginary lover/photographer as i switch from sipping to chugging my wine and loosing myself completely to the music is somehow making me feel very v e r y happy. I'll continue with  this till i get too drunk and am reminded that i am lonely, then ill ring you and eventually ask you to come over and wrap your wings around me.