There is a nuanced vapor between sadness and the initial curve of a smile. In that vapor, resides a gossamer peach-silver lattice of silk thread. Through this fine weave, sedate meiosis sets in sometimes. Like winds that travel over powerful seas through monsoon winds, spiced with tales from faraway lands and long ago times.
Salty orange evening in Mexico perhaps. Pretty ribbons in her hair perhaps. Wooden, stained table-top and a bartender with river-sand skin perhaps. A happy request for a drink perhaps. A demure show of adroitness and concoction tempered with desire perhaps. A ruddy lavish smiling thank-you perhaps.
And he named the drink after her. Margarita.
Based on trivia I read on Margarita. It made me strangely sad and strangely…smile.