I understand. It's been a long time since we've been affectionate toward one another.
Back in college, you were with me with every breakfast. The old $1.99 job from the Cheerful just wasn't right without you—a Bridgeport Porter to wash down the hashbrowns, eggs, and toast. Sometimes it was in celebration, the end of a long and fun night and you, the familiar porter would be there with breakfast food to soak up the other booze I cheated on you with. As a relationship with a human girlfriend deteriorated, I'd find myself coming to see you after she'd be at work, reading the papers while sipping you with a well-cleared plate, relishing being back with you.
But Blue Heron was maybe my first love. Sitting on stoops with cigarettes in fading sunlight, I remember learning to text with you; I remember your piles of your bottles, always admiring your shade of blue. I still taste you on my lips when the seasons are in transition. I was with you all the time. And in honesty, I still miss you.
I was priced out of NW before you came to live there. And trying to find you in the bars we used to haunt became harder. Even at stores I saw less of the Bridgeport I knew and more of the IPA mill you had become. I know that there were some places I could go to find you, the old you, to reconnect with what we had. I sometimes still feel guilty about not doing so more often. But I had no interest in being with you as you presented yourself as an IPA. We had something...But we grew apart.
There will be a hole in my heart knowing I can never have you again.