The Endless Cycle Of Celebration

For the time we spend together is all that we need. It’s all that we have ever known.

Familiar figures migrate back and forth across our rented space.
Reluctantly sitting. Assimilating to the world around them.

Endless bottles of alcohol at hand.
Drank ever so slowly.
Destined to be abandoned on the living room floor.

Small children gather to hear parents speak.
Hearing gleeful stories of a troubled past.
A passion in their voice.
To hide the pain of a world left close behind.

But the sound of laughter fills the air.
Echoing past the narrow halls.
Into the shared rooms where children play.

Bodies begin to stumble. Alcohol starts to spill.

While our aunts and uncles move their bodies to the rhythm of that melodic beat.

The booming sound of music now deafens our ears.
Muddling the words of our conversations.

Incoherent talk of the future.
Of our families and ourselves.
Of what we could be. And what we ought to be.
Dialogue soon to be forgotten.

Yet the talk of gossip remains intact.
As known secrets hastily reveal themselves.
Shining light on strained affairs and strengthen relationships.
No longer rumors left unspoken .

Innocent children stop their play.
To carefully watch their parents with curious eyes and open ears.
Unknowingly learning how to bury the judgment from the world outside.

And soon the night will come to an end.
So, we race to share what our incompetent selves could not do sober.
Conveying our appreciation for what the world has taken and for what it has given us.
To an empty room with no one listening.

Finally, we wave goodbye and roam back to our cramped room.
Turning the lights off as we lie on our twin-size bed.
Our bodies intoxicated and our minds numb.
Anticipating our next celebration as we close our eyes and go soundly back to sleep.

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