Whole

A blue light hits me constantly, one two three, every few seconds. It wouldn't be a problem if I was dancing, which my friends are, which I'm not. I need drinks but I don't want to drink because as soon as I do I'm dancing and I don't feel like dancing, which is the song that's playing. Come over, come over, come here, my friends beckon me. I shake my head. They persist. I persist. There is a whole lot of persisting going on. I prevail, and it feels like a hollow victory.

The bathroom is downstairs and humid, empty glasses left in the sink and on the floor. Theoretically they were brought down fuller than when they were left, which in my mind makes no sense. There's not a whole lot of sense to be found at 4 AM.

It's clear that they've forgotten me. My friends are huddling, swarming; they are, it seems, one. Only whole when I removed myself. I walk home, it's a half hour, over, the faster I walk the longer it goes. And I wake up half a day later covered in messages of where are you, where are you, where have you gone.