The evening ended with a dark backdrop that swooped and curled to the outline of trees on a canvas of a summery, navy blue sky. The air was warm, and the slightest breeze hushed through the leaves. The orange glow of candles in glass lanterns flickered on the table. A chorus of fireflies twinkled and flashed a silent symphony of light and dark.
Around the table, the few who had not yet departed for home talked in the stillness, the kind of conversation filled with honesty, hopes, dreams, stories, and truth. The kind of conversation that begins with ladies arriving in one place, filling the table with decadent treats, some homemade and others specially made at the supermarket. Coffee cups waited to be filled with whipped cream, sugar, espresso granita, and freshly brewed, steaming goodness. Carafes filled with water and floating slices of citrus sat next to mason jars, all shiny and clean.
As the room filled, each of us taking a pause from our roles that are wonderful and exhausting, we naturally gathered around the food. The air was rich with coffee and deep, refreshing exhales that laughter and the highly underrated delight of slow, casual enjoyment of food can bring. And though our lovely host had stacked fiesta ware and cutlery for us, all that seemed to civilized; we felt it our responsibility and duty to forgo the rituals of such adult-ish behavior, trading them in for grazing and leaning over each other, evidence of our comfort.
It still feels unreal to me, that I now find myself in these situations with a mix of new faces that quickly become friends and those who I’ve known for ten years now. This bizarre migration of college friends to this new city and the connection we carry into these years well past classes, travels, and sleepless night of our own choosing. This time where our majors and associations have little do to with our identity, because it was in the years after that we began to know life, and the world, and ourselves.
But it was in one question from a new friend that really got me thinking, the kind of thing makes the introvert in me thrilled.
So, what are some things that I should really know about you?
Cutting past the small talk, the walls that we build up for the sake of facades, far beyond the parts were we autonomously say, “I’m good,” this is the sweetness of conversation, dripping and raw with life.
Who are you? What are your dreams? What makes you feel the most alive? What is your story?
We sat around the table under the gentle song of a summer night. Conversations rich with vulnerability, inspiration, and truth. Laughter that melts away the hard parts of the beauty journey.
Deep prayers answered, wrapped in luxurious beauty, beyond our belief.
It’s extravagant really,
and I’d be a fool to not jot down this piece of the story.
Around the table, the few who had not yet departed for home talked in the stillness, the kind of conversation filled with honesty, hopes, dreams, stories, and truth. The kind of conversation that begins with ladies arriving in one place, filling the table with decadent treats, some homemade and others specially made at the supermarket. Coffee cups waited to be filled with whipped cream, sugar, espresso granita, and freshly brewed, steaming goodness. Carafes filled with water and floating slices of citrus sat next to mason jars, all shiny and clean.
As the room filled, each of us taking a pause from our roles that are wonderful and exhausting, we naturally gathered around the food. The air was rich with coffee and deep, refreshing exhales that laughter and the highly underrated delight of slow, casual enjoyment of food can bring. And though our lovely host had stacked fiesta ware and cutlery for us, all that seemed to civilized; we felt it our responsibility and duty to forgo the rituals of such adult-ish behavior, trading them in for grazing and leaning over each other, evidence of our comfort.
It still feels unreal to me, that I now find myself in these situations with a mix of new faces that quickly become friends and those who I’ve known for ten years now. This bizarre migration of college friends to this new city and the connection we carry into these years well past classes, travels, and sleepless night of our own choosing. This time where our majors and associations have little do to with our identity, because it was in the years after that we began to know life, and the world, and ourselves.
But it was in one question from a new friend that really got me thinking, the kind of thing makes the introvert in me thrilled.
So, what are some things that I should really know about you?
Cutting past the small talk, the walls that we build up for the sake of facades, far beyond the parts were we autonomously say, “I’m good,” this is the sweetness of conversation, dripping and raw with life.
Who are you? What are your dreams? What makes you feel the most alive? What is your story?
We sat around the table under the gentle song of a summer night. Conversations rich with vulnerability, inspiration, and truth. Laughter that melts away the hard parts of the beauty journey.
Deep prayers answered, wrapped in luxurious beauty, beyond our belief.
It’s extravagant really,
and I’d be a fool to not jot down this piece of the story.
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