My fondest memories of college lie
in various dorm rooms or apartment
common rooms, nestled between bottles
of wine and messy stacks of sticky,
well-worn playing cards.
Outside it is the middle of February,
and snow is coming as inky black night
creeps in through windows while we, a pack
of late teenaged girls slowly morphing into
adults, take our seats laughingly on the floor.
Between the hours of eight and ten we
share our secrets, feeling a kindred bond
that increases with each swig of a poorly
mixed, vaguely warm rum and coke.
We are soul sisters.
Inside these safe spaces we are allowed
to dream untainted dreams of what the night
has carefully hidden in store for us:
midnight kisses from strangers, mysterious
liquids in glass bottles, or three a.m. diner feasts.
Deep inside of our mostly innocent sorority girl
hearts, we know how the night will really play out:
another heated quarrel with a boyfriend,
a missing friend and unshed tears, vomiting
in a fraternity bathroom, or a lonely walk-of-shame.
But for now, we will cluster around the coffee table
in our ridiculously themed costumes, play one more
round Of Never Have I Ever, take one last swig of
vodka and lemonade, and wish with all of our
tipsy might that these nights will live forever.