Narcotised.

I like the inhibition alcohol offers.

The hazy, sleepy yet somewhat happy bubble you enter.

The bubble for you only. The heavy lidded eyes. Half closed, half open. 
Take your pick. Which shall it be?

That you're inclined to say more. Do more.
Arms to cling to. Faces to hold.

I like late night walks in winter.

The simultaneous freezing cold, yet warmth. The burn of alcohol down your throat. The way it warms you from the inside. The gentle swaying. The cool air. The uncontrollable shivering.

Soft voices.

Shoulders to lean on. Familiar scents.

The visible breath of air.

Amiable silence.

I like the fog.

In it, I can hide myself. In it, you enter the same, alcohol-induced state of being. In it, you're alone, enveloped.

Just you and the world.
Quietly. Softly. Gently.