She drinks from tepid water, avoiding eye contact with her filthy mirror. On a nightstand, cracked and faded, it sits silently, as she sits silently. As if by some strange circumstance, or trick of the light, she and it had blended into one, as they had night before.
Freed from humid sheets she drinks longingly from tepid waters, repeating once again the mistakes of hours previous. It sits in silent agreement as the bed stirs and a dry throat croaks. She watches his lips form patterns as an unsteady hand moves with little emotion towards red eyes and a sleep lined face.
They drink from tepid waters, reflecting in the hungover morning light.