365

jan.2.22

A little party never killed nobody.

With a midnight sky above, I leaned against the balcony railing. Loud, pumping, bass-filled music could be heard from inside through all of the closed doors and windows. The neighbors were sure to call in for a noise complaint, but we didn't care. It was the beginning of a new year, after all, and how we felt tomorrow didn't matter now.

I had stepped outside for a moment of fresh air, and an excuse to have a smoke. Burning between my fingers, I watched as ashes drifted slowly to the snow down below.

The stars were brilliant tonight, twinkling up above. The moon wasn't full, but that didn't stop it from shining over the snow, catching the landscape like it was covered in spilled glitter. Tree silhouettes beneath them, creating what would be a beautiful puzzle or a fantastic greeting card.

The moment felt like it was paused. All this beauty just for me.

This New Years party, on the second day of the new year, was the sixteenth one I'd been to. The group of friends I hung with liked bar hopping, party hopping, adrenaline hopping – wherever there was something fun happe in  that's where they were bound to be. And naturally, they took me with them.

Now they're inside, drinking sparkles and smoking grass and doing lines, with pretty girls on their arms.

And I'm outside, with a simple cigarette, thinking I'm getting too old for this, though I'm younger than them.

What do I have going for me? Not a lot; I like quiet coffee shops on a cold day, bountiful poetry, a good novel, a blank page and a pen. I like being left alone with my thoughts, not having to fill in void conversation because I don't want to make the other people think I'm a simpleton. I'm not a crowd follower. I'm more of a lone wolf, but I'm not wise enough to be a wolf. I like comfortable silences. I like spending as much time alone as I can.

So, why was this the sixteenth New Years party I've been to? Why wasn't I at home, with a hot chocolate and my unfinished novel?

My heart ached then; I craved the warmth and welcome of my couch. Of my peace. Not my extroverted friends. The ones who pulled me everywhere with them.

Snubbing my unsmoked and burnt out cigarettes on the balcony railing, I slipped back inside the party space long enough to grab my jacket and leave out the front door.

I'll text them tomorrow, telling them what happened to me. I'm sure they'll understand.

A little party never killed nobody, but it sure didn't make them feel total comfort. And I think I've partied enough to last me a long while.