There’s nothing I’d rather do than snuggle up on my couch and put on a cheesy romcom right now. I don’t need the popcorn, I don’t need a drink, hell, I don’t even need company. Just me, my couch, and two fictional characters that feel more real than anybody in my life right now.
Instead, I’m somewhere far away from the comfort of home, sitting on an uncomfortable pleather chair that people deem appropriate as ‘party furniture’. The chair makes me long for my couch, and the terrible techno music makes me yearn for anyplace that isn’t here.
There are bottles of wines I can’t pronounce strewed on the floor, confetti where bottles are supposed to be, and people where people aren’t meant to be.
None of us are meant to be here.
I take a good hard look at everyone around and wonder how I brought myself to come here. I’ll regret this night tomorrow, but for a whole other reason than everyone else. No hangovers, no drunken texts, and no catfights in the dingy washrooms.
Just the regret of another night wasted.
Another night I could’ve spent at home.
For now, I’ll pretend this creaky old chair is a long drawn-out couch.
And I’ll pretend this catfight in front of me is a movie on my watchlist.
I’ll pretend I’m meant to be here. Just like everybody else.
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