I live for Friday nights.
When the sun sets and you just can’t bring yourself to go home. I am in love with the illusions of the afternoon skies with their dusky dark violets and hazy pinks that blend together so effortlessly.
I can’t go home.
Now is when the fun starts. When the glowing lights of the street lights illuminate the dark skies. Every station you change is playing your favorite song and you start to come alive. You put your armor on better than you ever have, you start going into battle with just one more coat of your war paint. It’s how it starts. I won’t come back until the familiar streets become a memory of the week. I won’t come home until my soul feels whole and my life comes alive. It doesn’t matter where you land but it matters where you go.
Anywhere but here.
You stop then you go. Then you’re right back where you started from. Leaving is always easy when you want to live. Be alive in the nights and sleep away the days. Friday nights are different. They’re an excuse to be young and reckless and believe that you waited your whole week for this moment. This moment to say goodbye to the bullshit responsibilities of the day. 3 cheers to the night. Another round of drinks to complete the awkward fidgeting and tame the shallow talks of nothing. Speaking so fast it’s hard to keep up, another drink comes around and your speech comes in slow. You’re better than you were in the start of the week. You’re better than you could ever imagine.
My voice becomes faint and my sight becomes hazy. How did I get to this point? How did I let myself go in this illusion of being young? I am too young to listen, and too old to care. One more drink. One more drink before last call. One last drink to show these strangers that they are my new friends. Liquid courage to break me from my insecurities. Telling secrets to the people I don’t know but know everything about me.
Friday nights wake into Sunday mornings. The cycle continues. Youthful illusions of being unstoppable surrounded by strangers you believe are your friends. It’s how it starts. Leaving and letting go and returning to reality. We have to come home some day. We have to return to our same routines. Eventually we have to grow up someday. Not tonight. Not this time. Driving past the streets you grew up on. Screaming line from line of every song that makes you feel alive. At this moment I am unstoppable. At this moment I feel alive.
At least for the night.