There are days, and then there are days.
You feel worse for having that good time because you're so scared that it will be the last of the really great times. Glad we picked up like it had been just yesterday and not just yesteryear. Had a drink and cheersed to ten years of getting fucked up and stumbling home like high school lovers drunk on our parents wine. Found ourselves holding our breath so as not to disturb what might be happening. We'll still be the same kind of friends at christmas and next summer and on and on, like a good book that doesn't end, or it does, just a long time from now, but not long enough?