The Sleepover

Sitting in a circle of friends, some old, some new. A din of giggles and laughter permeates the room. Even though the air is chill and the floors are frigid there is warmth here. There is no life outside the house, all consciousness lies here. No lit up screens, just lit up faces and curiously twinkling eyes.

There is an ambient smell of sweet spirits and crispy foods.There is music that changes in genre and mood. The conversation ranges in pitch, tone and intensity, sometimes there is just silent tension in the air. An anticipation held up in everyone's chest to hold their thoughts that would be flushed out later.

As the night progresses, the hollowness of life feels occupied by a sense of solidarity. The mind is swarming with spirits; things are now hazy, fast and excitable all at the same time. Things have been said and heard, thoughts provoked and concluded.

The arms on the wall meet again and then cross over, words are spent. Random limbs are crossed, stomachs filled and thoughts calmed. The room is a calm sea on a sunny winter morning and the touch of someone is like the warm sand sifting under our backs as we bask.

The walls are darker now, lethargy starts setting in and one by one the shadows stop to move, an occasional change of posture followed by a silent humming. The din is now of breaths that sometimes meld together but otherwise stay random.

The presence of the outside world is suddenly felt, a distant bark, a horn, a loudspeaker miles away blairing into the night or just a whistle of the nightwatchman. The room has fallen into a slumber, the world will be silent for a bit.