We all know this weight too well. No, not the one on your back or the one pressing down on your knees. This one is invisible. It is felt on the inside and holds on to your ribs so tightly they may suffocate. It has reared its phantom head so many times you’ve lost count, if you ever did.
It’s heavy and claustrophobic. It reaches down to the pits of your stomach and stays there, an oppressive force destabilizing your whole being. It’s the uninvited guest that unsettles the balance of the evening and stays long after everyone else has gone. But it’s also the unexpected guest. The one that serves revelations and confrontations between two sips of red. You didn’t plan for them to be there but now you couldn’t imagine the contrary. Now, as the chatters and clinks of the night are dying down with the last flickers of the flames, their presence is the only thing that matters.
But you’ll always remember that weight. Because despite it’s lack of formal invitation, it consumed you anyways. And in the end of it all, that tight grasp, no matter how uncomfortable and unsettling, brings you closer to yourself.