Drinking with old friends

There is a certain joy that is gained from 
drinking with old school friends. People
you haven’t seen in a while and will probably 
not see after. Conversations don’t circle along
why, what, what even is the point of it all
that you have now come to associate with bottles. But 
instead it lightly treads down memory and plans for
future trips that are fun to make but will 
never be made. Only good memories remembered, the bad 
wiped off completely as things that needn’t 
have happened so never are mentioned. There
is an ease with which you can be with each 
other - a sense of belongingness rather - an understanding
that they know how you became the person
that you are today. So with loud music, mosambi juice 
and white rum in your eardrums, tastebuds and bloodstream 
you put your arms around each other, standing and falling
stupidly singing loudly with hands hurting but laughing
still because such weekends are meant to leave
marks and aches that you can wake up to on 
monday mornings with a silly smile on your face
regretting maybe the hangover but nothing else.