April 12 : Happy nights

Slowly and steadily we shall descend
into delirium. It seems to be more
a sense of falling than of rising.
The night begins, arbitrarily
at some point in twilight.
The lamps are lit,
the glasses full.
Suitably dressed, we are,
bedraggled and harried,
the days are long.
And on sofas which see
the days of our lives move
steadily, steadily on;
we now sit and cuddle
the pillows whose fabrics
we handpicked once.
The lighting is yellow,
the music is set.
And so we settle into
known patterns
of nights that never
seem to happen to
anyone but us.
Happy nights, full
(like our hearts)
of laughter and talking.
Of beautiful music.
Eating and drinking,
we talk. Smiling, we sigh.
And it's 3 am but it's too early
(always too early) to ever get
away from this room. If you crane
your neck you can see the stars
(although the stars are really in our eyes).

And someday we will look back, so happily,
and a part of us will sit in the twilight. And
we could not possibly have chosen this
(most of us), but here it is. And if we had
a choice, we would choose us. And we
know, we know just where it hurts, we know
where to prick with maximum efficiency. We know
how to drive each other up the wall, but we know.
We trust. We fight, but we (always, always will,
not dramatically - but just because it's how it is)
we stay. And we stay happy, because we've figured it out.
And the nights move on, and perhaps there will be days
unhappy and nights so long they never end,
but as long as it lasts, this time, let it fill us (the edges
of our infinite souls) and complete us,
if only
for the future (and the past) in which we might
have to remain incomplete.