It's 3am in the morning and I can't sleep. I have just spent another wonderful night with this goddess who, for some bizarre reason, deems me worthy to bathe in her divine light, I should be happy, or at the very least content, but I just lay here restless; spiders of insecurity crawling through my mind, scratching the back of my eyes, not letting them rest. I roll over, a futile endeavour to create a more comfortable sleeping position, and there it is; the glass.

Not an especially interesting or significant glass; in fact just a standard pint glass; but more importantly, it's half empty. I look at the glass sat on the nightstand and suddenly realise, it's me; this glass signifies my life and its failings. With this revelation any hope of sleeping disappears. I pick up the glass, kiss her shoulder and make my way to the kitchen.

Sat in the kitchen, the glass in the middle of the table, I ponder all the choices I have made; all the mistakes. Should I have taken that opportunity to go to college, I could have become a successful chef with my own restaurant, instead of just cooking for two. I could have been a footballer; at least according to my school sports coach; instead all I've retained is some degree of health from the training. Where is the success I dreamt of? This woman is amazing, but how long will she stay with a lowly bartender?

As I am awake, I decide to make use of the time with some washing up. Standing at the sink, cleaning the remains of our three course meal away; remembering the way she enjoyed the meal and the subsequent three times she showed her appreciation; I allow myself a little smile. Sensing my sudden contentment, the half empty glass whispers in my ear again, feeding my insecurity.

I've had enough. Opening the liquor cabinet, without looking I grab the first bottle that comes to hand; a half empty bottle of red left over from dinner. My first thought is to empty the glass and pour the remainder of the bottle inside, but a wine so sophisticated shouldn't be confined to such a common container, so I take a wine glass from the cupboard. Placing the delicate receptacle on the table next to the glass, their diversity is immediately apparent.

I look at the pint glass, at me; its design so mundane, so boring, little more than functional in fact, sitting awkwardly in the presence of this elegant, intricate vessel, designed to hold the most valuable and precious of liquids. With tall slender curves, this chalice of worship echoes the beautiful body lying in bed above me. Elegance and beauty to emphasise the enjoyment of the contained rapture. How can I drink from her rhapsody; my lips would only tarnish such splendour; I'm not worthy.

I make my decision. Grabbing a pen and paper from the sideboard, I sit down to write my last words to her. It won't be easy leaving her; finding another in this world as radiant will be almost impossible; but she deserves so much more than I can offer, and I would be selfish to stand in her way. The pen is just about to touch the paper when she walks into the room.

'What's up baby?'�

Her voice, like the choirs of heaven, at once calms me down and puts me at ease, and I find myself telling her everything I have been thinking for the last half an hour. After unloading all of my neurosis onto her slender shoulders, I wait for the inevitable platitudes and reassurances that usually follow, but they don't come. Instead she smiles at me in a way that makes all the pain and all the angst disappear, picks up the half empty pint glass and begins to pour the contents in to the wine glass. As the delicate goblet begins to fill I start to feel confused and look in to her eyes for clarification. Sensing my confusion, she gives me a look that tells me to be patient, and beckons me back to the glass.

Looking back at the wine glass, I notice that the container is now full and the contents are spilling over the edge onto the table; and she is still pouring. I look into her eyes again and, with no words spoken, am suddenly aware of what she is trying to tell me. To illustrate her point fully she finishes emptying the pint glass and places it back on the table. Understanding completely, I smile to her and speak with the voice of fulfilment.

'Thank you honey.'�

She kisses me on the forehead and makes her way back upstairs, as I get a kitchen towel and clean up the mess. I take one last look at the full wine glass, and remember her sighs and the way she had repeatedly showed her appreciation, and smile again. The empty pint glass is just a glass, it doesn't speak, and the wine glass whispers softly in my ear:

'Go to her, she's waiting.'�

It's 3:45 am in the morning and I can't sleep. I'm too excited. I have a beautiful woman, my whole life ahead of me, and I have a glass to fill.

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