Imagine that you’re invited to a private house party every three months or so.
Live music. Free alcohol and snacks. Beautiful and talented women. Handsome and confident men.
Now imagine that nearly everyone at the party is speaking a different language, one that you can appreciate for its beauty and intricacy, but cannot speak.
The lights are dark. No smoke, but the air is thick… and you both move and watch as if in water.
Even the dog is beautiful, and, like most of the others there, tolerant of but uninterested in your presence. You don’t matter here.
For you don’t belong. You don’t fit in. You sit, you watch, you absorb, you admire, you dream of what it’d be like to be a part of it. But it’s out of your reach. You are, as someone teasingly comments to you briefly, but “a voyeur.”
A voyeur. Confirmation that you shouldn’t even try to be part of a crowd that is — if not above — at least distinctly apart from you.
Ah, a warm face — a non-model — breaks the spell for a moment, speaking to you, but then flittering away to disappear into anothers’ arms. Gone.
Still surrounded by the foreign language that flows, that crackles with vibrance around you. Accentuated by playful, sensual, teasing embraces and even kisses that may be transitory but you desire to share in them nonetheless.
But you do not. You cannot.
You stumble out the door, finally overcoming the urge to sink deeper into the couch while watching the world swirl by… walking past the teacher, the smoker, the lover, all models, all perfect in their own way beyond your reach this evening, nay, this morning.
They say goodbye, and you nod, dumbly, walking faster down the stairs. Car keys, the whir of a motor, and then before you know it, back home… not quite ready for bed.
And here you are, typing a stream of consciousness in sadness and even amazement of what you’re a part of for several magical, surreal, miserable nights each year.
This, now, will be the last. No more.
Why try to be what you cannot?