The disco ball was turning, just as it had the very first time I had walked in, ten months and five days ago.
Back then, I had only been a visitor, an anomaly in the lives of those who were gathered around me this night. Somewhere along the way, I had become a recurring cast member: life went on without me, but no one objected when I made my impromptu appearances.
Tonight would be the last night I could stay before my whole world changed. Because of that, I kept my eyes open, nostalgia clouding my vision more than the alcohol.
My feet found their way to a inconspicuous alcove and a smile broke out. That had been where, just for a moment, everything that I had dreamed of had existed, superheroes and lightsabers.
A few floors above, everything I had thought I had known in that moment had been destroyed a few months ago and I had spent the night crying on my brother's shoulder. But just like the very first visit, that memory had blended into the tapestry of what made everything about this place so important to me.
Tonight both moments were important because they represented how far I had come. I was not holding on, I was not letting go, I was existing with a clear conscience and a smile.
All it had taken was a drunken confession, three words of truth long overdue, an apology I had long given up on hearing.