Watching the sun rise over a mirror reflection of itself in the lake, I lean back on the rocks beneath me. My toes wiggle in the hot water spring, they are starting to wrinkle from being in the water so long. My dress is a little wet, which has made my underwear damp as well. I shuffle closer to the water for warmth. I should have brought a jacket.
But I am young, which means I am allowed to recklessly believe that I am invincible. It’s one of the many drugs available to my generation. An unbeatable immortality of spirit.
We get as high from walking the empty streets at 1AM, as we do from marijuana.
A generation of no longer children, not quite adults, scrambling to find a foothold in an identity they think they might be able to bare maintaining for forty odd years. An identity that might catch a life partner they don’t mind too much, an identity that can hold down a decent career and raise a couple of kids that don’t turn out to be absolute psychopaths.
No wonder we drink with the intention to get wasted.
We spend our nights collecting stories we can never tell. Sometimes because we can’t even remember them, but usually because they were the realest moments of our lives so far. To relive them, would mean succumbing to the painful reality, that most of our day to day moments are spent in a dull, autopilot, haze.
But when the sun goes down, we don’t have to pretend anymore. Especially if we can blame our actions on alcohol.
In those precious hours where even the sun permits us some privacy, we let ourselves live. We kiss the people we want to kiss, we cry over the things we have been not letting ourselves cry about, we can tell all our secrets to the night sky and not fear the repercussions.