A Gathering

It was a gathering of the oldest friends. The stories, the I remember when. The curls that were now just a memory, replaced with a smattering of grey, formed out of what was left.

So many hugs, kisses, you look great.

A long extended table of familiar faces, faces that were just the same, only with less collagen. There was a blanket of comfort that covered us. Wrinkles that oozed warmth in an I know you, I trust you, immediate contentment.

There was giggling, discussions of dysfunctional Christmases with familiar road trips to find the way home. Nicknames re-emerged with gentle prods of ancient wounds. Yes you did, oh c’mon, you have to remember.

The lunch went for hours, just one more, I have to get, oh just one more. In amongst the fun, tears were held back with a wince, how’s your dad? Eye contact. A nod. I see you, not just the pictures, the texts, the updates. I see you.

Are we old now? Oh shit, how did we get old? But not when we’re together, because when we’re together, we’re young, void of responsibility. Let’s just pretend for a minute. Can you remember?

Remember the time the police came? The jobs, the study, the relationships that everyone but you, knew wasn’t right. Remember?

Old friends. Old town.

It never gets old.

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