I could stare into a glass of champagne for hours. Watching as sparkling stars are given birth from nothing. As I swallow that nothing and destroy something before it is made. That must explain why champagne tears seem to kiss your cheek and sparkle as they fall to die. A world never given birth, a moment consumed and then wasted away. I struggle to make that sacrifice mean something as I brush my champagne tears away with the back of my writing hand and begin to write again. I write.