The crickets chirp on a cool summer night. We hang at a friend's house, talking all things vital and inane. Small children move about, underfoot, making needs known, adding charm to the cheerful evening. We talk of recipes and where to get the best frozen burgers and how best to cook them. We share travel tales, what we saw, what we did, how much fun it was, how long the ride home lasted.
We talk about family members and how we love them and how we fear the roads they travel. Sometimes love is not given tenderly, but tough. We discuss the past and how it made our lives so. We offer one another empathy and compassion for what we have overcome despite all the hard turns.
We crack open bottles of beer and bottles of wine, we pass out ice cream to the already satiated children. When the candles are lit, we draw close, our words becoming more intimate. We tell things that we might never say at any other time to any one else, or we repeat, repeat, repeat.
Driving home it becomes clear that perseverance is half the battle. And sometimes, on certain Saturday nights, it is more than enough. It is everything.
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