Anna O'Neill

Nights Like These

My room is cold as the ink spills from my pen to the floor, creating colours and shapes that never existed before this night started to go downhill so fast you'd swear it was an inverted incline. Melodramatic cries turned into neon lights and an alcohol induced haze causing our guts to spill out of our bodies in the form of god awful honesty, and we say all the things that were never meant to leave our brains or if they were it was supposed to be in the light of day, coherent enough to know exactly what to say instead of ejecting our hearts through our mouths into someone else's face. And we drink so much to forget what was said and we're all afraid of leaving, going to bed, terrified of who we'll be in the morning, running around inside our own heads and praying to god they won't remember too because if they do then you have to face the truth about what you said and when you find out you think it would have been better if your liver had struck you dead, because the truth is they feel the same way and now you have to figure out what to say and where to go from here and it's a firework display of emotions in your heart and brain and your best option is to go with it and hope it doesn't blow up in your face. Nights like these end one of two ways, either in tears or with smiles on everyone's face, and I hope you night ends up like mine, with hugs and laughter, greeting the sun, looking around realizing everything's fine and you're happy where you are because your smile is brighter than ever before and all you need is nothing more than what you have and you're suddenly sure, nights like these are worth living for.