Melancholia

She is drunk; she has had far too many shots and swigs and her head feels dizzy—perhaps she will die tonight and it will all be over. Or maybe, she surveys the young man with hooded eyebrows, she would get to bed him. She kisses him... her cherry lips meeting his parched ones, their breaths intertwine in sad memory and she clings to his robes in shadows. Time travel. SS/HG