Thoughts on Red Wine

It was just a sudden thought. Savoring the red wine in my hand, I was struck by its unique character and began to think of a bottle of wine as a man. Wine has its brand, its place of origin, and its vintage. A man has his identity, his birth, his experiences, and his knowledge.

Finding a bottle of wine that suits you isn't easy. Time and again, I would set out determined to find one, but whenever I opened a bottle in delight, I discovered that, though the wine was good, it wasn't right for me. Then, by chance, in some obscure bar, I took a casual sip and unexpectedly found the very wine I had been searching for so long. But it vanished in a flash. I couldn't hold on to it, and I couldn't remember its name. All I could recall was the flavor that still seemed to linger faintly on my tongue.

Once, though I can't remember when, I came across a fine bottle of wine. The rose-red liquid shimmering in the glass drew my gaze so completely, and its rich, slightly tart taste made my stomach feel so at ease. But through my own carelessness, I lost it forever. The memory of how it made me feel has lingered in my mind ever since, impossible to shake.

Now, when I taste wine again, I find myself comparing it habitually to that feeling that has stayed with me all this time. Good wines still come along, but none is that bottle. No matter how wonderful they taste, they can never match the feeling that has taken root in my heart. And so that feeling has become eternal, remaining in my heart forever.

Forgetting a boy who no longer belongs to you, the boy who was best suited to you, is very difficult. It's like the feeling of a fine wine: you may lose the wine, but you can't lose the feeling. It stays deep in your heart. Then, at midnight, when you're alone and lonely, that feeling becomes so vivid, as though you'd just lived it, just tasted it. But it's only a memory. The grief of wanting to experience it for real when you know you never can crashes over you like a huge wave, devouring every thought. Naturally, you let it all out as tears.

Forgetting the memories of the past, forgetting the fine wine you once tasted, might be the right thing to do. But for me, it's only an idea, one I will never be able to put into practice. And so, at midnight, I keep reliving it, still letting my tears carry it away.